No adventure, no sentiment, far as we've come, In vain did I think of his charming Dead Ass, By the by, though, at Calais, Papa had a touch HUIT Set the first of his own dear legitimate feet,' (Modell'd out so exactly, and-God bless the mark! "Tis a foot, DOLLY, worthy so Grand a Monarque,) He exclaim'd, "Oh, mon Roi!" and, with teardropping eye, Stood to gaze on the spot-while some Jacobin, nigh, Mutter'd out with a shrug, (what an insolent thing!) "Ma foi, he be right-'tis de Englishman's King; And dat gros pied de cochon-begar, me vil say Dat de foot look mosh better, if turn'd toder way." There's the pillar, too-Lord! I had nearly forgotWhat a charming idea!-raised close to the spot; The mode being now, (as you've heard, I suppose,) To build tombs over legs, and raise pillars to toes. A thing, you know, whisker'd, great-coated, and laced, Like an hour-glass, exceedingly small in the waist: Quite a new sort of creatures, unknown yet to scholars, | With heads, so immoveably stuck in shirt-collars, That seats, like our music-stools, soon must be found them, To twirl, when the creatures may wish to look round them. In short, dear, "a Dandy" describes what I mean, And goes now to Paris to study French dishes, Whose names-think, how quick! he already knows pat, A la braise, petits pûtés, and-what d'ye call that As dear Pa knows the titles of authors and books. As to Pa, what d'ye think?-mind, it's all entre nous, But you know, love, I never keep secrets from you— Why, he's writing a book-what! a tale? a romance? No, ye Gods, would it were!-but his Travels in France; At the special desire (he let out t'other day) Of his great friend and patron, my Lord C-STL-R-GH, Who said, "My dear FUDGE"-I forget the exact words, And, it's strange, no one ever remembers my Lord's ; But 'twas something to say that, as all must allow A good orthodox work is much wanting just now, And some picturesque beggars, whose multitudes To expound to the world the new-thingummie— seem To recall the good days of the ancien régime, Our party consists (in a neat Calais job) science, Found out by the-what's-its-name-Holy Alli ance, And prove to mankind that their rights are but folly, Their freedom a joke, (which it is, you know, DOLLY,) "There's none," said his Lordship, "if I may be judge, You remember how sheepish Boв look'd at Kil-Half so fit for this great undertaking as FUDGE!" randy, But, Lord! he's quite alter'd-they've made him a Dandy; The matter's soon settled-Pa flies to the Row (The first stage your tourists now usually go,) 1 To commemorate the landing of Louis le Désiré from England, the impression of his foot is marked out on the pier at Calais, and a pillar with an inscription raised opposite to the spot. 2 C gît la jambe de, &c., &c. Settles all for his quarto-advertisements, praises Starts post from the door, with his tablets-French phrases 'SCCTT's Visit," of course-in short, ev'ry thing he has An author can want, except words and ideas :And, lo! the first thing, in the spring of the year, IS PHIL. FUDGE at the front of a Quarto, my dear! But, bless me, my paper's near out, so I'd better Which BOBBY would have, and is hard at it yet.- As the Bourbons, you know, are suppressing all heads That resemble old NAP's, and who knows but their honors May think, in their fright, of suppressing poor CONNOR'S? Au reste, (as we say,) the young lad's well enough, Only talks much of Athens, Rome, virtue, and stuff; A third cousin of ours, by the way-poor as Job (Though of royal descent by the side of Mamma,) And for charity made private tutor to BoB ; Entre nous, too, a Papist-how lib'ral of Pa! This is all, dear,-forgive me for breaking off thus, P. S. How provoking of Pa! he will not let me stop 1 A celebrated mantua-maker in Paris, 2 This excellent imitation of the noble Lord's style shows how deeply Mr. Fudge must have studied his great original. Irish oratory, indeed, abounds with such startling peculiarities. Thus the eloquent Counsellor B—— in describing some hypocritical pretender to charity, said, “He put his hand in his breeches-pocket, like a crocodile, and," &C., &c. LETTER II. FROM PHIL. FUDGE, ESQ., TO THE LORD VISCOUNT C-ST-R-GH. AT length, my Lord, I have the bliss Where, by plebeians low and scurvy, While BONEY's borne on shoulders in :- -GH, How oft, dear Viscount C- For him who writes a Tour, that he And spread, beyond man's usual share, At home, abroad, till thou art known, Paris. Like Major SEMPLE, everywhere! And marv'ling with what powers of breath Your Lordship, having speech'd to death Some hundreds of your fellow-men, Next speech'd to Sov'reigns' ears,—and when All Sov'reigns else were dozed, at last Speech'd down the Sov'reign3 of Belfast. Oh! mid the praises and the trophies Thou gain'st from Morosophs and Sophis; 3 The title of the chief magistrate of Belfast, before whom his Lordship (with the "studium immane loquendi" attributed by Ovid to that chattering and rapacious class of birds, the pies) delivered sundry long and self-gratulatory orations, on his return from the Continent. It was at one of these Irish dinners that his gallant broth, Lord S., proposed the health of "The best cavalry over in Europe-the Regent!" But hold, my pen!-a truce to praising- But time and ink run short, and now, I must embark into the feature On which this letter chiefly hinges ;)'— And bay'nets, and the Duke commanding― Passeth all human understanding: Should fall, if left there loney-poney Remember when by thee reign'd over, Upon the sideboard, snug reposes: Transferr'd by contract, bless the clods! If half were strangled-Spaniards, Poles, And Frenchmen-'twouldn't make much odds, So Europe's goodly Royal ones, 3 Sit easy on their sacred thrones; So FERDINAND embroiders gayly,3 And Louis eats his salmi, daily; 1 Verbatim from one of the noble Viscount's Speeches"And now, Sir, I must embark into the feature on which this question chiefly hinges." 2 See her Letters. So time is left to Emperor SANDY For dragons, after Chinese models, And chambers where Duke Ho and Soo, All this my Quarto'll prove-much more My Journal, penn'd by fits and starts, On BIDDY'S back or BOBBY's shoulder, (My son, my Lord, a youth of parts, Who longs to be a small place-holder,) "To the Cathedral of St. Denny; "Sigh'd o'er the Kings of ages back, "And-gave the old Concierge a penny. 66 (Mem.-Must see Rheims, much famed, 'tis said, "For making Kings and gingerbread.) "Was shown the tomb where lay, so stately, "A little Bourbon, buried lately, "Thrice high and puissant, we were told, It would be an edifying thing to write a history of the private amusements of sovereigns, tracing them down from the fly-sticking of Domitian, the mole-catching of Artabanus, the hog-mimicking of Parmenides, the horse-currying of Aretas, to the petticoat-embroidering of Ferdinand, and the ostentant?" patience-playing of the Pe R-t Your Logic and Greek, but there's nothing like Macaroni au parmesan grows in the fields; feeding; And this is the place for it, DICKY, you dog, A humbug, a flam, to the Carte2 at old VERY's; 'em A Jury of Tasters,3 with wooucocks before 'em? Give CARTWRIGHT his Parliaments, fresh every year; But those friends of short Commons would never do here; And, let ROMILLY speak as he will on the question, No Digest of Law's like the laws of digestion! By the by, DICK, I fatten-but n'importe for that, 'Tis the mode-your Legitimates always get fat. There's the R-G-T, there's LOUIS-and BONEY tried too, Little birds fly about with the true pheasant taint, And the geese are all born with a liver complaint ! I rise-put on neckcloth-stiff, tight, as can be— For a lad who goes into the world, DICK, like me, Should have his neck tied up, you know-there's no doubt of it Almost as tight as some lads who go out of it. With whiskers well oil'd, and with boots that "hold up "The mirror o nature"-so bright you could sup Off the leather like china; with coat, too, that draws On the tailor, who suffers, a martyr's applause! I strut to the old Café Hardy, which yet But, though somewhat imperial in paunch, Of a breakfast in England, your cursed tea and 'twouldn't do : 1 See the Quarterly Review for May, 1816, where Mr. Hobhouse is accused of having written his book "in a back street of the French capital." 2 The Bill of Fare.-Véry, a well-known Restaurateur. 3 Mr. Bob alludes particularly, I presume, to the famous Jury Dégustateur, which used to assemble at the Hôtel of M. Grimod de la Reynière, and of which this modern Archestratus has given an account in his Almanach des Gourmands, cinquième année, p. 78. 4 The fairy-land of cookery and gourmandise: "Pays, où le ciel offre les viandes toutes cuites, et où, comme on parle, les alouettes tombent toutes roties. Du Latin, coquère." Duchat. The process by which the liver of the unfortunate goose is enlarged, in order to produce that richest of all dainties, toast; the foie gras, of which such renowned pâtés are made at Strasbourg and Toulouse, is thus described in the Cours Gastronomique:-"On deplume l'estomac des oies; on attache ensuite ces animaux aux chenets d'une cheminée, et on les nourrit devant le feu: La captivité et la chaleur donnent à ces volatiles une maladie hépatique, qui fait gonfler leur foie," &c., p. 206. 6 Is Mr. Bob aware that his contempt for tea renders him liable to a charge of atheism? Such, at least, is the opinion cited in Christian. Falster. Amanitat. Philog.-" Atheum interpretabatur hominem ad herbâ The aversum." He would not, I think, have been so irreverent to this beverage of scholars, if he had read Peter Petit's Poem in praise of Tea, addressed to the learned Huet-or the Epigraphe which Pechlinus wrote for an altar he meant to dedicate to this herb But a sideboard, you dog, where one's eye roves about, There goes a French Dandy-ah, DICK! unlike some ones Like a Turk's in the Haram, and thence singles out We've seen about WHITE's-the Mounseers are but One pâté of larks, just to tune up the throat, rum ones; Such hats!-fit for monkeys-I'd back Mrs DRA PER To cut neater weather-boards out of brown paper: Then, some glasses of Beaune, to dilute-or, may-They'd club for old BR-MM-L, from Calais, to hap, dress 'em! Chambertin,' which you know's the pet tipple of The collar sticks out from the neck such a space, NAP, And which Dad, by the by, that legitimate stickler, The coffee's ne'er-failing and glorious appendix, A neat glass of parfait-amour, which one sips The sun now well out, and the girls all abroad, That you'd swear 'twas the plan of this headlopping nation, To leave there behind them a snug little place For the head to drop into, on decapitation. In short, what with mountebanks, counts, and fri seurs, Some mummers by trade, and the rest amateursWhat with captains in new jockey-boots and silk breeches, Old dustmen with swinging great opera-hats, There never was seen such a race of Jack From the Boulevards-but hearken!-y-as I'm a sinner, The clock is just striking the half-hour to dinner: We lounge up the Boulevards, where-oh, DICK, So no more at present-short time for adorning the phyzzes, The turn-outs, we meet-what a nation of quizzes ! My Day must be finish'd some other fine morn- Now, hey for old BEAUVILLIERS" larder, my boy! A laced hat, worsted stockings, and--noble old soul! Inflicts, without ev'n a court-martial, on hundreds. In a silk that has stood since the time of the Fronde. R. FUDGE. |