No adventure, no sentiment, far as we've come,
But the corn-fields and trees quite as dull as at home;
And but for the post-boy, his boots and his queue,
I might just as well be at Clonkilty with you!
In vain, at DESSEIN'S, did I take from my trunk
That divine fellow, STERNE, and fall reading “The
Monk ;"

In vain did I think of his charming Dead Ass,
And remember the crust and the wallet-alas!
No monks can be had now for love or for money,
(All owing, Pa says, to that infidel BONEY ;)
And, though one little Neddy we saw in our drive
Out of classical Nampont, the beast was alive!

By the by, though, at Calais, Papa had a touch
Of romance on the pier, which affected me much.
At the sight of that spot, where our darling Dix-

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 BoB's far the best of the genus I've seen:
An improving young man, fond of learning, ambi-
tious,

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
They inflict on potatoes?-oh! maitre d'hôtel-
I assure you, dear DOLLY, he knows them as well
As if nothing else all his life he had eat,
Though a bit of them BOBBY has never touch'd yet;
But just knows the names of French dishes and
cooks,

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,

seem

To recall the good days of the ancien régime,
All as ragged and brisk, you'll be happy to learn,
And as thin as they were in the time of dear
STERNE.

Our party consists (in a neat Calais job)
Of Papa and myself, Mr. CONNOR and BOB.

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,)

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
Draw fast to a close :-this exceeding long letter
You owe to a déjeûner à la fourchette,

Which BOBBY would have, and is hard at it yet.-
What's next? oh, the tutor, the last of the party,
Young CONNOR :-they say he's so like BONAPARTE,
His nose and his chin-which Papa rather
dreads,

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,
But Bob's déjeûner's done, and Papa's in a fuss.
B. F.

P. S.

How provoking of Pa! he will not let me stop
Just to run in and rummage some milliner's shop;
And my début in Paris, I blush to think on it,
Must now, DOLL, be made in a hideous low bonnet.
But Paris, dear Paris!-- oh, there will be joy,
And romance, and high bonnets, and Madame Le
Roi !1

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
To date to you a line from this
"Demoralized" metropolis;

Where, by plebeians low and scurvy,
The throne was turn'd quite topsy-turvy,
And Kingship, tumbled from its seat,
"Stood prostrate" at the people's feet;
Where (still to use your Lordship's tropes)
The level of obedience slopes
Upward and downward, as the stream
Of hydra faction kicks the beam !2
Where the poor Palace changes masters
Quicker than a snake its skin,
And Louis is roll'd out on castors,

While BONEY's borne on shoulders in :-
But where, in every change, no doubt,
One special good your Lordship traces,-
That 'tis the Kings alone turn out,
The Ministers still keep their places.

-GH,

How oft, dear Viscount C-
I've thought of thee upon the way,
As in my job (what place could be
More apt to wake a thought of thee?)---
Or, oftener far, when gravely sitting
Upon my dicky, (as is fitting

For him who writes a Tour, that he
May more of men and manners see,)
I've thought of thee and of thy glories,
Thou guest of Kings, and King of Tories!
Reflecting how thy fame has grown

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-
Though ev'n your Lordship will allow
The theme's temptations are amazing;

But time and ink run short, and now,
(As thou wouldst say, my guide and teacher
In these gay metaphoric fringes,

I must embark into the feature

On which this letter chiefly hinges ;)'—
My Book, the Book that is to prove-
And will, (so help ye Sprites above,
That sin clouds, as grave as judges,
Watching the labors of the FUDGES!)
Will prove that all the world, at present,
Is in a state extremely pleasant;
That Europe-thanks to royal swords

And bay'nets, and the Duke commanding―
Enjoys a peace which, like the Lord's,

Passeth all human understanding:
That France prefers her go-cart King
To such a coward scamp as BONEY;
Though round, with each a leading-string,
There standeth many a Royal crony,
For fear the chubby, tott'ring thing

Should fall, if left there loney-poney
That England, too, the more her debts,
The more she spends, the richer gets;
And that the Irish, grateful nation!

Remember when by thee reign'd over,
And bless thee for their flagellation
As HELOISA did her lover!2-
That Poland, left for Russia's lunch

Upon the sideboard, snug reposes:
While Saxony's as pleased as Punch,
And Norway" on a bed of roses!"
That, as for some few million souls,

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
To be half Cæsar and half Dandy;
And G- GE the R-G-T (who'd forget
That doughtiest chieftain of the set ?)
Hath wherewithal for trinkets new,

For dragons, after Chinese models,

And chambers where Duke Ho and Soo,
Might come and nine times knock their
noddles !---

All this my Quarto'll prove-much more
Than Quarto ever proved before:
In reas'ning with the Post I'll vie,
My facts the Courier shall supply,
My jokes V-NS-T, P-LE my ense,
And thou, sweet Lord, my eloquence !

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,)
Is-though I say't, that shouldn't say-
Extremely good; and, by the way,
One extract from it-only one-
To show its spirit, and I've done.
"Jul. thirty-first.-Went, after snack,

"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,

feeding;

And this is the place for it, DICKY, you dog,
Of all places on earth-the head-quarters of Prog!
Talk of England-her famed Magna Charta, I
swear, is

A humbug, a flam, to the Carte2 at old VERY's;
And as for your Juries-who woul: not set o'er

'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!
With head bridled up, like a four-in-hand leader,
And stays-devil's in them-too tight for a
feeder,

I strut to the old Café Hardy, which yet
Beats the field at a déjeûner à la fourchette.
There, DICK, what a breakfast! oh, not like your
ghost

'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