Ah! then how little did we think or hope,
Dearest of men! that I should e'er be Pope !1
That I-the humble Joan-whose housewife art
Seemed just enough to keep thy house and heart
(And those, alas! at sixes and at sevens),

Should soon keep all the keys of all the Heavens !'

Still less (she continues to say) could they have foreseen that such a cata strophe as had happened in Council would befall them-that she

'Should thus surprise the Conclave's grave decorum,

And let a little Pope pop out before 'em

Pope Innocent! alas, the only one

That name should ever have been fixed upon!'

She then very pathetically laments the downfall of her greatness, and enumerates the various treasures to which she is doomed to bid farewell for

ever.

'But oh! more dear, more precious ten times over-
Farewell, my Lord, my Cardinal, my Lover!

I made thee Cardinal-thou mad'st me-ah?

Thou mad'st the Papa2 of the World-Mamma !'

I have not time now to translate any more of this Epistle; but I presume the argument which the Right Hon. Doctor and his friends mean to deduce from it. is (in their usual convincing strain) that Romanists must be unworthy of Emancipation now, because they had a Petticoat Pope in the Ninth Century. Nothing can be more logically clear, and I find that Horace had exactly the same views upon the subject:

The Manuscript, which I found in the Bookseller's Letter, is a Melodrama, in two Acts, entitled, 'The Book,'3 of which the Theatres, of course, had had the refusal, before it was presented to Messrs. L-ck-ngt-n and Co. This rejected Drama, however, possesses considerable merit, and I shall take the liberty of laying a sketch of it before my Readers.

The first Act opens in a very awful manner: Time, three o'clock in the morning-Scene, the Bourbon Chamber in C-r-lt-n House-Enter the P-e R-g-t solus.-After a few broken sentences, he thus exclaims:

Spanheim attributes the unanimity with which Joan was elected, to that innate and irresistible charm by which her sex, though latent, operated upon the instinct of the Cardinals: Non vi aliqua, sed concorditer, omnium in se converso desiderio, quæ sunt blandientis sexus artes, latentes in hac quanquam !'

This is an anachronism, for it was not till the eleventh century that the Bishop of Rome took the title of Papa, or Universal Father.

3 There was a mysterious Book in the sixteenth century, which employed all the anxious curiosity of the learned of that day-every one spoke of it; many wrote against it; though it does not appear

that anybody had ever seen it; and, indeed, Gro--
tins is of opinion that no such book ever existed..
It was entitled 'Liber de tribus impostoribus.'
(See Morhof. Cap. de Libris damnatis.')-Our
more modern mystery of the 'Book' resembles
this in many particulars; and if the number of
lawyers employed in drawing it up be stated cor-
rectly, a slight alteration of the title into'à tribus.
impostoribus' would produce a coincidence alto-
gether very remarkable.

4 The chamber, I suppose, which was prepared for the reception of the Bourbons at the first Grand Fête, and which was ornamented (all' for the deliverance of Europe') with fleurs de lys.

Away-away

Thou haunt'st my fancy so, thou devilish Book!

1 meet thee-trace thee, wheresoe'er I look.

I see thy damned ink in Eld-n's brows

I see thy foolscap on my H-rtf-d's Spouse

V-ns-t-t's head recalls thy leathern case,

And all thy blank-leaves stare from R-d-r's face!

While, turning here [laying his hand on his heart], I find, ah wretched elf!
Thy List of dire Errata in myself.

[Walks the stage in considerable agitation.]

Oh Roman Punch! oh potent Curaçoa!

Oh Maraschino! Maraschino oh!

Delicious drams! why have you not the art

To kill this gnawing Book-worm in my heart?

He is here interrupted in his Soliloquy by perceiving some scribbled frag. ments of paper on the ground, which he collects, and by the light of two magnificent candelabra' discovers the following unconnected words-' Wife neglected''the Book'-'Wrong Measures'-'the Queen'-'Mr. Lambert'—' the R-g-t.'

Ha! treason in my House !-Curst words, that wither

My princely soul [shaking the papers violently], what Demon brought you hither? 'My wife!'-'the Book,' too!--stay-a nearer look

[Holding the fragments closer to the Candelabra] Alas! too plain, B, double O, K, Book—

Death and destruction!

He here rings all the bells, and a whole legion of Valets enter-A scene of cursing and swearing (very much in the German style) ensues, in the course of which messengers are despatched in different directions for the L-rd Ch-nc-ll-r, the D-e of C-b-1-d, etc. etc.-The intermediate time is filled up by another Soliloquy, at the conclusion of which the aforesaid Personages rush on alarmed-the D-e with his stays only half-laced, and the Ch-nc-llor with his wig thrown hastily over an old red night-cap, to maintain the becoming splendour of his office." The R-g-t produces the appalling fragments, upon which the Ch-nc-llor breaks out into exclamations of loyalty and tenderness, and relates the following portentous dream :

'Tis scarcely two hours since

I had a fearful dream of thee, my Pe!

Methought I heard thee, 'midst a courtly crowd,
Say from thy throne of gold, in mandate loud,

Worship my whiskers !-[weeps] not a knee was there

But bent and worshipped the Illustrious Pair

That curled in conscious majesty! [pulls out his handkerchief]—while cries
Of 'Whiskers! whiskers!' shook the echoing skies!-

Just in that glorious hour, methought there came,

With looks of injured pride, a Princely Dame,

And a young maiden clinging to her side,

1 To enable the individual who holds the office of Chancellor to maintain it in becoming splendour. (A loud laugh.)-Lord Castlereagh's Speech upon the Vice-Chancellor's Bill.

As if she feared some tyrant would divide

The hearts that nature and affection tied!

The Matron came-within her right hand glowed

A radiant torch; while from her left a load

Of Papers hung-[wipes his eyes]-collected in her veil-
The venal evidence, the slanderous tale,

[Weeps.]

The wounding hint, the current lies that pass
From Post to Courier, formed the motley mass;
Which, with disdain, before the Throne she throws,
And lights the Pile beneath thy princely nose.
Heavens, how it blazed!-I'd ask no livelier fire
[with animation] To roast a Papist by, my gracious Sire!—
But ah! the evidence-[weeps again—I mourned to see-
Cast, as it burned, a deadly light on thee!
And Tales and Hints their random sparkles flung,
And hissed and crackled like an old maid's tongue;
While Post and Courier, faithful to their fame,
Made up in stink for what they lacked in flame!
When, lo, ye Gods !-the fire, ascending brisker,
Now singes one, now lights the other whisker-
Ah! where was then the Sylphid that unfurls
Her fairy standard in defence of curls?

Throne, Whiskers, Wig, soon vanished into smoke,
The watchman cried 'past One,' and-I awoke.

Here his Lordship weeps more profusely than ever, and the R-g—t (who has been very much agitated during the recital of the dream), by a movement as characteristic as that of Charles XII. when he was shot, claps his hands to his whiskers to feel if all be really safe. A Privy Council is held-all the Servants, etc. are examined, and it appears that a Tailor, who had come to measure the R-g-t for a dress (which takes three whole pages of the best superfine clinquant in describing), was the only person who had been in the Bourbon Chamber during the day. It is accordingly determined to seize the Tailor, and the Council breaks up with a unanimous resolution to be vigorous.

The commencement of the Second Act turns chiefly upon the Trial and Imprisonment of Two Brothers; but as this forms the under plot of the Drama, I shall content myself with extracting from it the following speech, which is addressed to the two brothers, as they 'exeunt severally' to Prison:—

Go to your Prisons-though the air of Spring
No mountain coolness to your cheeks shall bring;
Though summer flowers shall pass unseen away,
And all your portion of the glorious day

May be some solitary beam that falls,

At morn or eve, upon your dreary walls--
Some beam that enters, trembling as if awed,

To tell how gay the young world laughs abroad!

Yet go-for thoughts, as blessed as the air

Of Spring or Summer flowers, await you there;
Thoughts, such as He, who feasts his courtly crew
In rich conservatories, never knew!

1 The Hunts.

Pure self-esteem-the smiles that light within-
The Zeal, whose circling charities begin

With the few loved ones Heaven has placed it near,
Nor cease, till all Mankind are in its sphere !—
The Pride, that suffers without vaunt or plea,
And the fresh Spirit, that can warble free,
Through prison-bars, its hymn to Liberty!

The Scene next changes to a Tailor's Workshop, and a fancifully-arranged group of these Artists is discovered upon the Shop-board. --Their task evidently of a royal nature, from the profusion of gold-lace, frogs, etc. that lie about.— They all rise and come forward, while one of them sings the following Stanzas, to the tune of 'Derry Down :'

My brave brother Tailors, come, straighten your knees,
For a moment, like gentlemen, stand up at ease,
While I sing of our P -e (and a fig for his railers),
The Shop-board's delight! the Mæcenas of Tailors!

Derry down, down, down derry down.

Some monarchs take roundabout ways into note,
But His short cut to fame is-the cut of his coat;
Philip's Son thought the World was too small for his Soul,
While our R-g-t's finds room in a laced button-hole!
Derry down, etc.

Look through all Europe's Kings-at least those who
Not a King of them all's such a friend to the Goose.
So, God keep him increasing in size and renown,
Still the fattest and best-fitted P- e about town!
Derry down, etc.

go loose

During the Derry down' of this last verse, a messenger from the S-c-t-y of Se's Office rushes on, and the singer (who, luckily for the effect of the scene, is the very Tailor suspected of the mysterious fragments) is interrupted in the midst of his laudatory exertions, and hurried away, to the no small surprise and consternation of his comrades. The plot now hastens rapidly in its development-the management of the Tailor's examination is highly skilful, and the alarm which he is made to betray is natural without being ludicrous. The explanation, too, which he finally gives, is not more simple than satisfactory. It appears that the said fragments formed part of a self-exculpatory note which he had intended to send to Colonel M‘M- -n upon subjects purely professional; and the corresponding bits (which still lie luckily in his pocket) being produced, and skilfully laid beside the others, the following billet-doux is the satisfactory result of their juxtaposition :

Honoured Colonel-my Wife, who's the Queen of all slatterns,
Neglected to put up the Book of new Patterns.

She sent the wrong Measures too-shamefully wrong-
They're the same used for poor Mr. Lambert, when young;
But, bless you! they wouldn't go half round the R-g-t,
So hope you'll excuse yours till death, most obedient.

This fully explains the whole mystery-the R-g-t resumes his wonted smiles, and the Drama terminates, as usual, to the satisfaction of all parties.

TRIFLES.

1814.

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 Castlereagh's Speech upon Colonel M'Mahon's Appoiníment.

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-O 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,
Advanced, O 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 determined to be read!