Should we but still enjoy the sway

Her Press enthrall'd-her Reason mock'd again Of S-DM-1 and of C- -GH,

With all the monkery it had spurn'd in vainI hope, ere long, to see the day

Her crown disgraced by one, who dared to own When England's wisest statesmen, judges,

He thank'd not F*** ce but E*****d for his throne Lawyers, peers, will all be–FUDGES !

Her triumphs cast into the shade by those Good bye-my paper 's out so nearly,

Who had grown old among her bitterest foes, I've only room for

And now return'd, beneath her conquerors' shields,
Yours sincerely.

Unblushing slaves ! to claim her heroes' fields,
To tread down every trophy of her fame,
And curse that glory which to them was shame!-

Let these- let all the damning deeds, that then
LETTER VII.

Were dared through Europe, cry aloud to men,

With voice like that of crashing ice that rings
FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO

Round Alpine huts, the perfidy of K**gs;
BEFORE We sketch the Present-let us cast

And tell the world, when hawks shall harmless bear A few short rapid glances to the Past.

The shrinking dove, when wolves shall learn to spare When he, who had defied all Europe's strength,

The helpless victim for whose blood they lusted, Beneath his own weak rashness sunk at length;- Then, and then only, monarchs may be trusted ! When loosed, as if by magic, from a chain

It could not last-these horrors could not lastThat seem'd like Fate's, the world was free again, F***ce would herself have risen, in might, to cast And Europe saw, rejoicing in the sight,

The insulters off--and oh ! that then, as now, The cause of Kings, forionce, the cause of Right;

Chain'd to some distant islet's rocky brow, Then was, indeed, an hour of joy to those

N**ol**n ne'er had come to force, to blight, Who sign’d for justice-liberty-repose,

Ere half matured, a cause so proudly bright ;And hoped the fall of one great vulture's nest

To palsy patriot hearts with doubt and shame,
Would ring its warning round, and scare the rest.

And write on Freedom's flag a despot's name;
And all was bright with promise ;-Kings began To rush into the lists, unask'd, alone,
To own a sympathy with suffering Man,

And make the stake of all the game of one ?
And Man was grateful-Patriots of the South

Then would the world have seen again what power. Caught wisdom from a Cossack Emperor's mouth,

A people can put forth in Freedom's hour; And heard, like accents thaw'd in Northern air,

Then would the fire of F***ce once more have blazed ; Unwonted words of freedom burst forth there !

For every single sword, reluctant raised Who did not hope in that triumphant time,

In the stale cause of an oppressive throne, When monarchs, after years of spoil and crime,

Millions would then have leap'd forth in her own; Met round the shrine of Peace, and Heaven look'd on, And never, never had the unholy stain Who did not hope the lust of spoil was gone ;

Of B***b*n feet disgraced her shores again! That that rapacious spirit, which had play'd

But Fate decreed not so—the Imperial Bird, The game of Pilnitz o'er so oft, was laid,

That, in his neighbouring cage, unfear'd, unstirr'd, And Europe's Rulers, conscious of the past, Had seem'd to sleep with head beneath his wing, Would blush, and deviate into right at last?

Yet watch'd the moment for a daring spring ; But no-the hearts that nursed a hope so fair

Well might he watch, when deeds were done that made Had yet to learn what men on thrones can dare; His own transgressions whiten in their shade; Had yet to know, of all earth’s ravening things, Well might he hope a world, thus trampled o'er The only quite untameable are K**gs !

By clumsy tyrants, would be his once more: Scarce had they met when, to its nature true, Forth from its cage that eagle burst to light, The instinct of their race broke out anew;

From steeple on to steeple' wing'd its flight,
Promises, treaties, charters, all were vain,

With calm and easy grandeur, to that throne
And “Rapine!-rapine !" was the cry again. From which a royal craven just had flown;
How quick they carved their victims, and how well, And resting there, as in its aerie, furl'd
Let Saxony, let injured Genoa tell, -

Those wings, whose very rustling shook the world!
Let all the human stock that, day by day,
Was at the Royal slave-mart truck'd away,-

What was your fury then, ye crown'd array, The million souls that, in the face of Heaven,

Whose feast of spoil, whose plundering holiday Were split to fractions,' barter'd, sold, or given

Was thus broke up in all its greedy mirth, To swell some despot power, too huge before,

By one bold chieftain's stamp on G*ll*c earth! And weigh down Europe with one Mammoth more! Fierce was the cry and fulminant the ban,How safe the faith of K**gs let F***ce decide;

“ Assassinate, who will-enchain, who can, Her charter broken, ere its ink bad dried

The vile, the faithless, outlaw'd, low-born man!"

“Faithless!"-and this from you—from you, forsooth, 1 "Whilst the Congress was re-constructing Europe-dot Ye pious K**gs, pure paragons of truth, according to rights, natural affiances, language, habits, or Whose honesty all knew, for all had tried; laws, but by tables of finance, which divided and subdivi- Whose true Swiss zeal had served on every side; ded her population into souls, demi-souls, and even fractions, according to a scale of the direct duties or taxes which couià be levied by the acquiring state," etc.-Sketch 1 “ L'aigle volera de clocher en clocher, jusqu'aux tours of the Military and Political Power of Russia. The de Notre-Dame."-N**ol**n's Proclamation on landing words on the Protocol are ames, demi-ames, etc.

2

miss'd stays.

Whose fame for breaking faith so long was known, (But hold-enough--soon would this swell of rage Well might ye claim the craft as all your own,

O'erflow the boundaries of my scanty pageAnd Jash your lordly tails, and fume to see So, here I pause-farewell—another day Such low born apes of royal perfidy!

Return we to those Lords of prayer and prey, l'es-yes-to you alone did it belong

Whose loathsome cant, whose frauds by right divine To sin for ever, and yet ne'er do wrong

Deserve a lash-oh! weightier far than mine!
The frauds, the lies of lords legitimate
Are but fine policy, deep strokes of state ;
But let some upstart dare to soar so high

LETTER VIII.
In K**gly craft, and "outlaw" is the cry!
What, though long years of mutual treachery

FROM MR. BOB FUDGE, TO RICHARD
Had peopled full your diplomatic shelves

DEAR Dick, while old Donaldson's' mending my With ghosts of treaties, murder'd 'mong yourselves;

stays,Though each by turns was knave and dupe—what Which I knew would go smash with me one of these then ?

days, A Holy League would set all straight again ;

And, at yesterday's dinner, when, full to the throttle, Like Juno's virtue, which a dip or two

We lads had begun ourdessert with a bottle In some bless'd fountain made as good as new !!

Of neat old Constantia, on my leaning back Most faithful Russia-faithful to whoe'er

Just to order another, by Jove I went crack ! Could plunder best, and give him amplest share ;

Or, as honest Tom said, in his nautical phrase, Who, even when vanquish'd, sure to gain his ends,

“ D-n my eyes, Bob, in doubling the Cape you've For want of foes to rob, made free with friends, And, deepening still by amiable gradations,

So, of course, as no gentleman's seen out without them, When foes are stript of all, then fleeced relations !3

They're now at the Schneider's3-and, while he's Most mild and saintly Prussia-steep'd to the ears

about them, In persecuted Poland's blood and tears,

Here goes for a letter, post-haste, neck and cropAnd now, with all her harpy wings outspread Let us see—in my last I was—where did I stop? O'er sever'd Saxony's devoted head !

Oh, I know-at the Boulevards, as motley a road as Pure Austria too,-whose history nought repeats Man ever would wish a day's lounging upon; But broken leagues and subsidized defeats ; With its cafés and gardens, hotels and pagodas, Whose faith, as Prince, extinguish'd Venice shows, Its founts, and old Counts sipping beer in the sun. Whose faith, as man, a widow'd daughter knows ! With its houses of all architectures you please, And thou, oh England !--who, though once as shy From the Grecian and Gothic, Dick, down by degrees As cloister'd maids, of shame or perfidy,

To the pure Hottentot, or the Brighton Chinese; Art now broke in, and, thanks to C

-GH, Where, in temples antique, you may breakfast or dinIn all that's worst and falsest lead'st the way!

ner it,

Lunch at a mosque, and see Punch from a minaret. Such was the pure divan, whose pens and wits

Then, Dick, the mixture of bonnets and bowers, The escape from E**a frighten’d into fits; Such were the saints who doom'd N**ol**n's life, Green-grocers, green-gardens-one hardly knows

Of foliage and frippery, fiacres and flowers, In virtuous frenzy, to the assassin's knife!

whether Disgusting crew !-who would not gladly fly

'Tis country or town, they're so mess'd up together! To open, downright, bold-faced tyranny,

And there, if one loves the romantic, one sees To honest guilt, that dares do all but lie,

Jew clothes-men, like shepherds, reclin'd under trees; From the false, juggling craft of men like these,

Or Quidnuncs, on Sunday, just fresh from the barber's, Their canting crimes and varnish'd villanies ;

Enjoying their news and groseille* in those arbours, These Holy Leaguers, who then loudest boast Of faith and honour, when they've stain'd them most; And founts of red currant-juice' round them are purl.

While gaily their wigs, like the tendrils, are curling, From whose affection men should shrink as loth

ing. As from their hate, for they'll be fleeced by both; Who, even while plundering, forge Religion's name Here, Dick, arm in arm, as we chattering stray, To frank their spoil, and, without fear or shame,

And receive a few civil “God-dems" by the way,– Call down the Holy Trinity to bless

For ʼtis odd, these mounseers,—though we've wasted Partition leagues, and deeds of devilishness!

our wealth

And our strength, till we've thrown ourselves into 1 Singulis annis in quodam Atticæ fonte lota virginitatem

a phthisic, recuperasse fingitur.

2 At the Peace of Tilsit, where he abandoned his ally, 1 An English tailor at Paris. Prussia, to France, and received a portion of her territory. 2 A ship is said to miss stays, when she does not obey the

3 The seizure of Finland from his relative of Sweden. helm in tacking.

4 The usual preamble of these flagitious compacts. In 3 The dandy term for a tailor. the same spirit, Catherine, after the dreadful massacre of 4 “Lemonade and eau-de-groseille are measured out at Warsaw, ordered a solemn “thanksgiving to God, in all the every corner of every street, from fantastic vessels, jingling churches, for the blessings conferred upon the Poles ;” and with bells, to thirsty tradesmen or wearied messengers." commanded that each of them should "swear fidelity and See Lady Morgan's lively description of the streets of Paris, loyalty to her, and to shed in her defence the last drop of in her very amusing work upon France, book 6. their blood, as they should answer for it to God, and his 5 These gay, portable fountains, from which the groseille terrible judgment, kissing the holy word and cross of their water is administered, are among the most characteristic Saviour!"

To cram down their throats an old K**g for their | Of an inward" cheap dinner and pint of small wine; health, While St. Denis hangs out o'er some hatter of ton,

As we whip little children to make them take And possessing, good bishop, no head of his own,'

physic;-

Yet, spite of our good-natur'd money and slaughter,
They hate us, as Beelzebub hates holy water!
But who the deuce cares, DICK, as long as they
nourish us

Neatly as now, and good cookery flourishes-
Long as, by bayonets protected, we Natties
May have our full fling at their salmis and pates?
And, truly, I always declared 't would be pity
To burn to the ground such a choice-feeding city:
Had Dad but his way, he 'd have long ago blown
The whole batch to Old Nick-and the people, I own,
If for no other cause than their curst monkey looks,
Well deserve a blow-up-but then, damn it, their
cooks!

Takes an interest in Dandies, who 've got-next to

none.

Then we stare into shops-read the evening's af-
fiches-

Or, if some, who 're Lotharios in feeling, 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 Panora-
mas,2

We quicken our pace, there heartily cram as
Seducing young pates, as ever could cozen
One out of one's appetite, down by the dozen.
We vary of course-petits pates do one day,
The next we've our lunch with the Gauffrier Hollan-
dais,"

As to Marshals, and Statesmen, and all their whole That popular artist, who brings out, like Sc―TT,

lineage,

For aught that I care, you may knock them to spinage;
But then, DICK, their cooks-what a loss to mankind!
What a void in the world would their art leave behind!
Their chronometer spits-their intense salamanders--
Their ovens their pots, that can soften old ganders,
All vanish'd for ever-their miracles o'er,
And the Marmite Perpetuelle' bubbling no more!
Forbid it, forbid it, ye Holy Allies,

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. Take whatever ye fancy--take statues, take money-And here, Dick-in answer to one of your queries, But leave them, oh leave them their Périgueux pies,

Their glorious goose-livers, and high pickled tunny!2

About which we Gourmands, have had much dis cussion

Though many, I own, are the evils they've brought us, I've tried all these mountains, Swiss, French, and

Though R**al y 's here on her very last legs,
Yet, who can help loving the land that has taught us
Six hundred and eighty-five ways to dress eggs 23
You see DICK, in spite of their cries of "God-dem,"
"Coquin Anglais," et cæt'ra-how generous I am!
And now (to return, once again, to my "Day,"
Which will take us all night to get through in this way)
From the Boulevards we saunter thro' many a street,
Crack jokes on the natives--mine, all very neat-
Leave the Signs of the Times to political fops,
And find twice as much fun in the Signs of the Shops;-
Here, a L***8 D*x-h**t-there, a Martinmas goose
(Much in vogue since your eagles are gone out of use)
Henri Quatres in shoals, and of gods a great many,
But Saints are the most on hard duty of any :-
St. Tony, who used all temptations to spurn,
Here hangs o'er a beer-shop, and tempts in his turn;
While there St. Venecia sits hemming and frilling her
Holy mouchoir o'er the door of some milliner ;-
St. Austin's the "outward and visible sign

1 Cette merveilleuse Marmite Perpétuelle, sur le feu depuis près d'un siècle; qui a donné le jour à plus de 300,000 chapons."-Alman. des Gourmands, Quatrieme Année,

p. 152,

2 Le thon marioé, one of the most favourite and indigestible hors-d'auvres. This fish is taken chiefly in the Golfe de Lyon. "La tête et le dessous du ventre sont les parties le plus recherchées des gourmets."-Cours Gastronomique,

1 St. Denis 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 coûte."

2 Off the Boulevards Italiens.

3 In the Palais Royal; successor, I believe, to the Flamand, so long celebrated for the moelleux of his Gauffres.

4 Doctor Cotterel recommends, for this purpose, the Beauaérienne, couleur de rose;" but I own I prefer the authority jon, or French mountains, and calls them "une médecine 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 Cotterel may write on the question,
The turn at the Beaujon 's too sharp for digestion.

p. 252. 3 The exact number mentioned by M. de la Reynière I doubt whether Mr. Bob is quite correct in accenting the "On connoit en France 685 manières différentes d'accom-second syllable of Ruggieri. moder les œufs; sans compter celles que nos savans imagineut chaque jour."

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

5 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.

6 They killed Henry I. of England.-"A food (says Hume

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-'t will 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 a la table, de la table au lit!"

FROM PHIL. FUDGE, ESQ. TO THE LORD VISCOUNT

3 The celebrated letter to Prince Hardenburgh (written, 1 This extraordinary madman is, I believe, in the Bicêtre. however, I believe, originally in English,) in which his Lord-He imagines, exactly as Mr. Fudge states it, that, when the ship, professing to see "no moral or political objection" to heads of those who had been guillotined were restored, be the dismemberment of Saxony, denounced the unfortunate by mistake got some other person's instead of his own King, as "not only the most devoted, but the most favoured of Buonaparte's vassals."

One only change from thence would flow-
Ribbons would not be wasted so!

"T was thus I ponder'd 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.

Aug. 21.

Walk'd out with daughter BID-was show
The House of Commons and the Throne,
Whose velvet cushion's just the same1
N-POL-N sat on-what a shame!
Oh, can we wonder, best of speechers!
When Ls 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!2

Aug. 28.

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 knowing look.—
Indeed I've found, in Latin, lately,
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 weigh'd-to see if he gets fatter:*
Then, if a pound or two he be
Increased, there's quite a jubilee !4

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 P-E, God bless him! gains a few.

With bales of muslins, chintzes, spices,
I see the Easterns weigh their kings ;-
But, for the R-G-T, my advice is,
We should throw in much heavier things:
For instance
-'s quarto volumes,
Which, though not spices, serve to wrap them;
Dominie ST-DD-T's daily columns,

"Prodigious !"-in, of course, we'd clap them-
Letters, that C-RTW-T's pen indites,
In which, with logical confusion,
The Major like a Minor writes,

And never comes to a conclusion:-
Lord S-M-RS' pamphlet-or his head-
(Ah, that were worth its weight in lead!)
Along with which we in may whip, sly,
The Speeches of SIR JOHN C-x H-PP-SLY;
That Baronet of many words,

Who loves so, in the house of Lords,
To whisper Bishops-and so nigh
Unto their wigs in whispering goes,
That you may always know him by

A patch of powder on his nose!-
If this won't do, we in must cram
The "Reasons" of Lord B-CK-GH-M:
(A book his Lordship means to write,

Entitled "Reasons for my Ratting:")
Or, should these prove too small and light,
His -'s a host-we'll bundle that in!
And, still should all these masses fail
To stir the R-G-T's ponderous scale,
Why then, my Lord, in Heaven's name,
Pitch in, without reserve or stint,

The whole of R-GL-Y's beauteous Dame-
If that won't raise him, devil's in't!

Consulted MURPHY'S TACITUS

About those famous spies at Rome,'
Whom certain Whigs-to make a fuss-
Describe as much resembling us,2

Informing gentlemen, at home.

Aug. 31.

But, bless the fools, they can't be serious, To say Lord S-DM-TH's like TIBERIUS! 1 The only change, if I recollect right, is the substitution of lilies for bees. This war upon the bees is, of course, uni- What! he, the Peer, that injures no man, versal; "exitium misere apibus," like the angry nymphs in Like that severe blood-thirsty Roman! Virgil:-but may not new swarms arise out of the victims "T is true, the Tyrant lent an ear to of Legitimacy yet? 2 I am afraid that Mr. Fudge alludes here to a very awk-All sorts of spies-so doth the Peer, too. ward accident, which is well known to have happened to 'Tis true, my Lord's Elect tell fibs, poor L-s le D-s-é, some years since, at one of the And deal in perjury-ditto TIB's. R-g-t's Fêtes. He was sitting next our gracious Queen at the time.

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

4 "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 considered, throughout India, as one of the most precious gifts of HeaAn 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. Ꮓ

ven.

1 The name of the first worthy who set up the trade of informer at Rome, (to whom our Olivers and Castleses ought to erect a statue) was Romanus Hispo" qui formam vitæ iniit, quam postea celebrem miseriæ temporum et audaciæ hominum fecerunt."-Tacit. Annal. 1. 74.

2 They certainly possessed the same art of instigating their victims, which the Report of the Secret Committee attributes to Lord Sidmouth's agents :-" socius (says Tacitus of one of them) libidinum et necessitatum, quo pluribus indiciis illigaret."