Denounc'd against the land, that spurn'd his chain,

Myriads of fierce invading swords, to track Through your best blood his path of vengeance back;

When Europe's Kings, that never yet combin'd But (like those upper Stars, that when conjoin'd,

Shed war and pestilence) to scourge mankind,
Gather'd around, with hosts from every shore,
Hating N*P*L**N much, but Freedom more,
And, in that coming strife, appall'd to see
The world yet left one chance for liberty!-
No, 'twas not then the time to weave a net
Of bondage round your Chief; to curb and fret
Your veteran war-horse, pawing for the fight,
When every hope was in his speed and might-
To waste the hour of action in dispute,
And coolly plan how Freedom's boughs should
shoot

When your Invader's axe was at the root!
No, sacred Liberty! that God, who throws
Thy light around, like his own sunshine knows,
How well I love thee, and how deeply hate
All tyrants, upstart and Legitimate-
Yet, in that hour, were F***ce my native land,
I would have followed, with quick heart and
hand,

N*p*L**N, NERO-ay, no matter whom-
To snatch my country from that damning doom,

ways cross Mount Taurus with stones in their bills to prevent any unlucky cackle from betraying them to the eagles-διαπετονται σιωπώντες.

That deadliest curse that on the conquer'd

waits

A Conqueror's satrap, thron'd within her
gates!
[please-
True, he was false--despotic--all you
Had trampled down man's holiest liberties-
Had, by a genius, form'd for nobler things
Than lie within the grasp of vulgar Kings,
But rais'd the hopes of men-as eaglets fly
With tortoises aloft into the sky-

To dash them down again more shatteringly!
All* this I own--but still

*

*

AT last, DOLLY,--thanks to a potent emetic, Which BOBBY and Pa, with grimace sympa

thetic,

Have swallowed this morning, to balance the bliss

Of an eel matelote and a bisque d'écrevisses—

* Somebody (Fontenelle, I believe) has said, that if he had his hand full of truths, he would open but one finger at a time; and I find it necessary to use the same sort of reserve with respect to Mr. Phelim Connor's very plain-spoken letters. The remainder of this Epistle is so full of unsafe matter-of-fact that it must, for the present at least, be withheld from the public.

I've a morning at home to myself, and sit down To describe you our heavenly trip out of town. How agog you must be for this letter, my dear! Lady JANE, in the novel, less languish'd to hear

If that elegant cornet she met at Lord NEVILLE'S

Was actually dying with love or--blue devils. But Love, DOLLY, Love is the theme I pursue; With Blue Devils, thank heav'n, I have nothing

to do

Except, indeed, dear Colonel CALICOT spies Any imps of that colour in certain blue eyes, Which he stares at till I, DOLL, at his do the same;

Then he simpers--l blush--and would often exclaim

If I knew but the French for it, "Lord, Sir, for shame!"?

Well, the morning was lovely--the trees in full dress

For the happy occasion--the sunshine express-Had we order'd it, dear, of the best poet going, It scarce could be furnish'd more golden and glowing.

Though late when we started, the scent of the air

Was like GATTIE's rose-water-and, bright, here and there,

On the grass an odd dew-drop was glittering

yet,

Like my aunt's diamond pin on her green tabinet!

And the birds seem'd to warble as blest on the

boughs,

As if each a plum'd Calicot had for her spouse: And the grapes were all blushing and kissing

in rows,

And-in short, need I tell you, wherever one goes

With the creature one loves, 'tis all couleur de

rose;

And, ah, I shall ne'er, liv'd I ever so long, see A day such as that at divine Montmorency! There was but one drawback-at first when we started,

The Colonel and I were inhumanly parted; How cruel-young hearts of such moments to rob!

He went in Pa's buggy, and I went with BoB ; And, I own, I felt spitefully happy to know That Papa and his comrade agreed but so-so. For the Colonel, it seems, is a stickler of BoNEY'S

Serv'd with him, of course-nay, I'm sure they were cronies

So martial his features! dear DOLL, you can

trace

Ulm, Austerlitz, Lodi, as plain in his face
As you do on that pillar of glory and brass,*
Which the poor Duc DE B--RI must hate so
to pass!

It appears, too, he made-as most foreigners do

* The column in the Place Vendôme.

About English affairs an odd blunder or two. For example-misled by the names I dare say

He confounded JACK CASTLES with Lord CGH;

And such a mistake as no mortal hit ever

on

Fancied the present Lord C—
-MD-N the clever

one!

But politics ne'er were the sweet fellow's trade;

'Twas for war and the ladies my Colonel was made.

talk'd;

And, oh, had you heard, as together we walk'd Thro' that beautiful forest, how sweetly he [know And how perfectly well he apppear'd, DoLL, to All the life and adventures of JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU!

“'Twas there,” said he-not that his words I can state[translate; 'Twas a gibb'rish that Cupid alone could But " there," said he (pointing where, small and remote,

The dear Hermitage rose,)" there his JULIE "he wrote,

"Upon paper gilt-edg'd,* without blot or era

"sure:

"Then sanded it over with silver and azure,

* Employant pour cela le plus beau papier dorée, séchant l'écriture avec de la poudre d'azur et d'argent, et cousant mes cahiers avec de la nompareille bleue." Les Confessions, Part, 2, liv. 9.