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While you live-(what's there under that cover? pray, look)

While you live-(I'll just taste it)—ne'er keep a Shecook.

'T is a sound Salic law-(a small bit of that toast)-Which ordains that a female shall ne'er rule the roast; For Cookery's a secret-(this turtle's uncommon) — Like Masonry, never found out by a woman!»

The dinner, you know, was in Gay celebration

Of my brilliant triumph and H-nt's condemnation;

A compliment too to his Lordship the J--e

That, however we still might in courtesy call
Them a fine dish of brains, they were no brains at all.
When the dinner was over, we drank, every one
In a bumper, « the venial delights of Crim. Con.>>
At which II-D-T with warm reminiscences gloated,
And E-BR-H chuckled to hear himself quoted.

Our next round of toasts was a fancy quite new,
For we drank-and you'll own 't was benevolent too-
To those well-meaning husbands, cits, parsons, or peers,
Whom we 've any time honour'd by kissing their dears:
This museum of wittols was comical rather;
Old H-D-T gave M--Y, and I gave

In short, not a soul till this morning would budge-
We were all fun and frolic!-and even the J-E
Laid aside, for the time, his juridical fashion,
And through the whole night was not once in a passion!

I write this in bed, while my whiskers are airing,
And M-c has a sly dose of jalap preparing
For

poor T-MMY T-KR-T at breakfast to quaff-
As I feel I want something to give me a laugh,
And there's nothing so good as old T-MMY, kept close
To his Cornwall accounts, after taking a dose !

LETTER IV.

FROM THE RIGHT HON. P-TR-CK D-G-N-N TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR J-IN N-CH-L.

LAST week, dear N-CH-L, making merry
At dinner with our Secretary,
When all were drunk, or pretty near

The time for doing business here),
Says he to me, « Sweet Bully Bottom!
These Papist dogs-hiccup-od rot 'em!
Deserve to be bespatter'd-hiccup-

For his speech to the J-y,-and zounds! who would With all the dirt even you can pick upgrudge

Turtle-soup, though it came to five guineas a bowl,
To reward such a loyal and complaisant soul?
We were all in high gig-Roman Punch and Tokay
Travell'd round, till our heads travell'd just the same

way.

But, as the P--E- (here 's to him-fill-
Hip, hip, hurra!)—is trying still
To humbug them with kind professions,
And as you deal in strong expressions-
Rogue-traitor'-hiccup-and all that—
You must be muzzled, DOCTOR PAT!-

And we cared not for Juries or Libels-no-dam'me! nor You must indeed-hiccup--that's flat.» Even for the threats of last Sunday's Examiner !

More good things were eaten than said-but Tom

T-RRH-T

In quoting Joe Miller, you know, has some merit,
And, hearing the sturdy Justiciary Chief
Say-sated with turtle-Ill now try the beef »-
TOMMY whisper'd him (giving his Lordship a sly hit)
« I fear 't will be hung-beef, my Lord, if you try it!»

Gone

And C-MD-N was there, who, that morning, had
To fit his new Marquis's coronet on;
And the dish set before him-oh dish well-devised!—
Was, what old Mother GLASSE calls, « a calf's head sur-
prised!»

The brains were near —; and once they'd been fine,
But of late they had lain so long soaking in wine

1 This letter, as the reader will perceive, was written the day after a dinner, given by the M of 11-d-t.

Yes-« muzzled» was the word, SIR JOHN-
These fools have clapp'd a muzzle on
The boldest mouth that e'er ran o'er
With slaver of the times of yore!1
Was it for this that back I went
As far as Lateran and Trent,

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Dublin.

This letter, which contained some very heavy inclosures, seeme k have been sent to London by a private hand, and then put into the Iwoprany Post-Office, to save trouble. See the Appendix.

2 In sending this sheet to the Press, however, I learn that the muzzle has been taken off, and the Right Hon. Doctor let Tre

Oh! 't is too much-who now will be
The Nightman of No-Popery?
What Courtier, Saint, or even Bishop,
Such learned filth will ever fish up?
If there among our ranks be one

To take my place, 't is thou, SIR JOHN-
Thou-who like me, art dubb'd Right Hon.
Like me, too, art a Lawyer Civil
That wishes Papists at the devil!

To whom then but to thee, my friend,
Should PATRICK' his Port-folio send?

Take it 't is thine-his learn'd Port-folio,
With all its theologic olio

Of Bulls, half Irish and half Roman,-
Of Doctrines now believed by no man-
Of Councils, held for men's salvation,
Yet always ending in damnation-

(Which shows that since the world's creation,
Your Priests, whate'er their gentle shamming,
Have always had a taste for damning);
And many more such pious scraps,
To prove (what we 've long proved perhaps)
That, mad as Christians used to be
About the Thirteenth Century,
There's lots of Christians to be had

In this, the Nineteenth, just as mad!

Farewell-I send with this, dear N—CH—L'

A rod or two I've had in pickle

Wherewith to trim old GR-TT-N ́s jacket.— The rest shall go by Monday's packet.

P. D.

Among the Inclosures in the foregoing Letter was the following a Unanswerable Argument against the Papists.»

WE'RE told the ancient Roman nation
Made use of spittle in lustration.-2
(Vide Lactantium ap. Gallæum-3

I. e. you need not read but see 'em).
Now, Irish Papists (fact surprising!)
Make use of spittle in baptising,

Which proves them all, O'FINNS, O'FAGANS,
CONNORS, and TOOLES, all downright Pagans!
This fact's enough-let no one tell us
To free such sad, salivous fellows--
No-no-the man baptised with spittle
Hath no truth in him-not a tittle!

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(By the bye, you 've seen RoKEBY?-this moment got

mine

The Mail-Coach Edition'-prodigiously fine!)
But I can't conceive how, in this very cold weather,

I'm ever to bring my five hundred together;
As, unless the thermometer 's near boiling heat,
One can never get half of one's hundreds to meet-
Apropos--you'd have laugh'd to see TOWNSEND,last night,
Escort to their chair, with his staff so polite,
The three maiden Miseries,» all in a fright!
Poor TOWNSEND, like MERCURY, filling two posts,
Supervisor of thieves, and chief-usher of ghosts!)

But, my dear Lady! can't you hit on some notion,

At least for one night to set London in motion?
As to having the R-G-NT-that show is gone by—
Besides, I've remark'd that (between you and I)
The MARCHESA and he, inconvenient in more ways,
Have taken much lately to whispering in door-ways;
Which-considering, you know, dear, the size of the

two

Makes a block that one's company cannot get through;
And a house such as mine is, with door-ways so small,
Has no room for such cumbersome love-work at all!-
(Apropos, though, of love-work-you've heard it, I hope,
That NAPOLEON'S old Mother's to marry the POPE,—
What a comical pair!)-But, to stick to my Rout,
T will be hard if some novelty can't be struck out.
Is there no ALGERINE, DO KAMCHATKAN arrived?
No Plenipo PACHA, three-tail'd and ten-wived?
No RUSSIAN, whose dissonant consonant name
Almost rattles to fragments the trumpet of fame?
I remember the time, three or four winters back,
When-provided their wigs were but decently black-
A few Patriot monsters, from SPAIN, were a sight
That would people one's house for one, night after night.
But whether the Ministers paw'd them too much-
(And you know how they spoil whatever they touch),
Or, whether Lord G-RGE (the young man about town)
Has, by dint of bad poetry, written them down-
One has certainly lost one's peninsular rage,
And the only stray Patriot seen for an age

Has been at such places (think how the fit cools)

As old Mrs. V-N's or Lord L-v-RP-L's!

But, in short, my dear, names like WINTZTSCHITSTOPS

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LETTER VI.

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FROM ABDALLAH, IN LONDON, TO MOHASSAN, IN
ISPAHAN.

WHILST thou, MOHASSAN (happy thou!),
Dost daily bend thy loyal brow
Before our King-our Asia's treasure!
Nutmeg of Comfort! Rose of Pleasure!--
And bear'st as many kicks and bruises
As the said Rose and Nutmeg chooses;-
Thy head still near the bowstring's borders,
And but left on till further orders!
Through London streets, with turban fair,
And caftan floating to the air,

I saunter on-the admiration

Of this short-coated population

This sew'd-up race-this button'd nation-
Who, while they boast their laws so free,
Leave not one limb at liberty,

But live, with all their lordly speeches,
The slaves of buttons and tight breeches.

Yet, though they thus their knee-pans fetter
(They're Christians, and they know no better)2
In some things they 're a thinking nation-
And, on Religious Toleration,

I own I like their notions quite,
They are so Persian and so right!
You know our SUNNITES,3 hateful dogs!
Whom every pious SHITE flogs

Or longs to flog-'t is true, they pray
To God, but in an ill-bred way;
With neither arms, nor legs, nor faces
Stuck in their right, canonic places !5
Tis true, they worship ALI's name-6
Their heaven and ours are just the same-
(A Persian's heaven is easily made,
'Tis but-black eyes and lemonade).
Yet-though we 've tried for centuries back-
We can't persuade the stubborn pack,
By bastinadoes, screws, or nippers,
To wear th' establish'd pea-green slippers! 7

↑ I have made many inquiries about this Persian gentleman, but cannot satisfactorily ascertain who he is. From his notions of Religious Liberty, however, I conclude that he is an importation of Ministers. and he has arrived just in time to assist the P-- and Mr. L-ck-E in their new Oriental Plan of Reform See the second of these Letters. -How Abdallah's epistle to Ispahau found its way into the Twopenny Post-Bag is more than I can pretend to account for.

Then-only think-the libertines!

They wash their toes-they comb their chins,'
With many more such deadly sins!

And (what's the worst, though last I rank it)
Believe the Chapter of the Blanket!

Yet, spite of tenets so flagitious,
(Which must, at bottom, be seditious;

As no man living would refuse

Green slippers, but from treasonous views ;
Nor wash his toes, but with intent
To overturn the government!)
Such is our mild and tolerant way,
We only curse them twice a-day
(According to a form that's set),
And, far from torturing, only let
All orthodox believers beat 'em,

And twitch their beards, where'er they meet 'em.

As to the rest, they 're free to do
Whate'er their fancy prompts them to,
Provided they make nothing of it
Tow'rds rank or honour, power or profit;
Which things, we nat rally expect,
Belong to us, the Establish'd sect,
Who disbelieve (the Lord be thanked!)
Th' aforesaid Chapter of the Blanket.

The same mild views of Toleration
Inspire, I find, this button'd nation,
Whose Papists (full as given to rogue,
And only Sunnites with a brogue)
Fare just as well, with all their fuss,
As rascal Sunnites do with us.

The tender Gazel I inclose
Is for my love, my Syrian Rose-
Take it, when night begins to fall,
And throw it o'er her mother's wall.

GAZEL.

Rememberest thou the hour we past?
That hour, the happiest and the last!—
Oh! not so sweet the Siha thorn
To summer bees at break of morn,
Not half so sweet, through dale and dell,
To camels' ears the tinkling bell,
As is the soothing memory

C'est un honnête homme, said a Turkish governor of de Ruyter Of that one precious hour to me! c'est grand dommage qu'il soit Chrétien

3 Sunnites and Shiites are the two leading seets into which the Mahometan world is divided: and they have gone on cursing and persecating each other, without any intermission, for about eleven hundred years. The Sunni is the established sect in Turkey, and the Shia in Persia; and the differences between them turn chiefly upon those im

How can we live, so far apart?
Oh! why not rather heart to heart,
United live and die?-

portant points, which our pious friend Abdallah, in the true spirit of Like those sweet birds that fly together, With feather always touching feather, Link'd by a hook and eye!1

Shiite Ascendancy, reprobates in this Letter.

4 Les Sunnites, qui étaient comme les catholiques de Musulmanisme. D'HEABLLOT

5. In contradistinction to the Sounis, who in their prayers cross their hands on the lower part of the breast, the Schialis drop their arms in straight lines, and as the Sounis, at certain periods of the prayer, presa their foreheads on the ground ur carpet, the Schiahs, eic. etc.FORSTER'S Foyage.

For these points of difference, as well as for the Chapter of the Blanket, I must refer the reader (not having the book by me) to Picart's

A count of the Mahometan Sects.

*This will appear strange to an English reader, but it is literally translated from Abdallah's Persian, and the curious bird to which be

6. Les Turcs ne détestent pas Alt réciproquement; au contraire ils alludes is the Juftak, of which I find the following account in Richardle reconnaissent, etc. cic-CHARDIN

son. - A sort of bird that is said to have but one wing, on the opposite 7. The Shutes wear green slippers, which the Sunnites consider as a side to which the male has a hock and the female a ring, so that, when great abomination.MARITI they Oy, they are fastened together.

LETTER VII.

FROM MESSRS. L—CK-GT-N AND CO.

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PER POST, Sir, we send your MS.-look'd it through-
Very sorry-but can't undertake-'t would n't do.
Clover work, Sir!-would get up prodigiously well-
Its only defect is-it never would sell!

And though Statesmen may glory in being unbought,
In an Author, we think, Sir, that's rather a fault.

LETTER VIII.

FROM COLONEL TH-M-S TO
--, ESQ.

COME to our Fete,' and bring with thee
Thy newest, best embroidery!
Come to our Fete, and show again
That pea-green coat, thou pink of men!
Which charm'd ali eyes that last survey'd it,
When BL's self inquired « who made it?»—
When Cits came wondering from the East,

Hard times, Sir.—most books are too dear to be read And thought thee Poet PYE, at least!
Though the gold of Good-sense and Wit's small-change

are fled,

Yet the paper we publishers pass, in their stead,

Rises higher each day, and ́t is frightful to think it)
Not even such names as F―TZG——o's can sink it!
However, Sir-if you 're for trying again,

And at somewhat that's vendible-we are your men.

Since the Chevalier C-RR took to marrying lately,
The Trade is in want of a Traveller greatly-
No job, Sir, more easy-your Country once plann'd,
A month aboard ship and a fortnight on land
Puts your Quarto of Travels clean out of hand.

An East-India pamphlet 's a thing that would tell—
And a lick at the Papists is sure to sell well.
Or-supposing you have nothing original in you-
Write Parodies, Sir, and such fame it will win you,
You'll get to the Blue-stocking Routs of ALB-N-A!
Mind-not to her dinners—a second-hand Muse
Must n't think of aspiring to mess with the Blues.)
Or-in case nothing else in this world you can do-
The deuce is in 't, Sir, if you cannot review!

Should you feel any touch of poetical glow,
We've a scheme to suggest-Mr Sc-TT, you must know
(Who we 're sorry to say it, now works for the Row),3
Having quitted the Borders to seek new renown,
Is coming, by long Quarto stages, to Town;
And beginning with ROKEBY (the job's sure to pay)
Means to do all the Gentlemen's Seats on the way.
Now, the Scheme is (though none of our hackneys can
beat him)

To start a fresh Poet through Highgate to meet him;
Who, by means of quick proofs-no revises-long
coaches-

May do a few Villas before Sc-TT approaches-
Indeed if our Pegasus be not curst shabby,

He'll reach, without found ring, at least WOBURN-ABBEY.

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Oh! come-! if haply 't is thy week
For looking pale —with paly cheek;
Though more we love thy roseate days,
When the rich rouge pot pours its blaze
Full o'er thy face, and, amply spread,
Tips even thy whisker-tops with red-
Like the last tints of dying Day
That o'er some darkling grove delay!

Bring thy best lace, thou gay Philander!
(That lace, like HI-RRY AL-X—ND—B,
Too precious to be wash'd)-thy rings,
Thy seals--in short, thy prettiest things!
Put all thy wardrobe's glories on,
And yield, in frogs and fringe, to none
But the great R-G-r's self alone!
Who, by particular desire-

For that night only, means to hire
A dress from ROMEO C-TES, Esquire-
Something between (t were sin to hack it)
The Romeo robe and Hobby jacket!
Hail, first of Actors!" best of R-G-TS!
Born for each other's fond allegiance!
Both
gay Lotharios-both good dressers-
Of Serious Farce both learned Professors-
both circled round, for use or show,
With cocks-combs, wheresoe'er they go!

Thou know'st the time, thou man of lore!
It takes to chalk a ball-room floor-
Thou know'st the time, too, well-a-day!
It takes to dance that chalk away.3
The Ball-room opens-far and nigh
Comets and suns beneath us lie;
O'er snowy moons and stars we walk,
And the floor seems a sky of chalk!
But soon shall fade the bright deceit,
When many a maid, with busy feet

↑ This Letter inclosed a Card for the Grand Fête on the 5th of February.

1 Quem tu. Melpomene, semel

Nascentem placido lumine, videris, etc. - Horat.
The Man, upon whom thou hast deign'd to look funny,
Thou great Tragic Muse! at the hour of his birth-
Let them say what they will, that's the man for my money,
Give others thy tears, but let me have thy mirth!

The assertion that follows, however, is not verified in the instance be

1 From motives of delicacy, and, indeed, of fellow-feeling, I sup-fore us. press the name of the Author, whose rejected manuscript was inclosed in this letter. See the Appendix.

* This alludes, I believe, to a curious correspondence, which is said to have passed lately between ALB-NA, Countess of B—CK-GH-S-E, and a certain ingenious Parodist.

3 Paternoster Row,

Illam

➖➖➖➖non equus impiger

Curru ducet Achaico.

To those who neither go to balls nor read the Morning Post, it may

be necessary to mention that the floors of Ball-rooms, in general, are chalked, for safety and for ornament, with various fanciful devices.

That sparkle in the Lustre's ray.
O'er the white path shall bound and play
Like Nymphs along the Milky Way!-
At every step a star is fled,

And suns grow dim beneath their tread!
So passeth life-(thus Sc-rr would write,
And spinsters read him with delight)—
Hours are not feet, yet hours trip on,
Time is not chalk, yet time's soon gone!'
But, hang this long digressive flight!
I meant to say, thou It see, that night,
What falsehood rankles in their hearts,
Who say the P--E neglects the arts-
Neglects the arts!-no ST--G! no;
Thy Cupids answer «'t is not so ;>>
And every floor, that night, shall tell
How quick thou daubest, and how well!
Shine as thou may'st in French vermilion,
Thou 'rt best-beneath a French cotillion;
And still comest off, whate'er thy faults,
With flying colours in a Waltz!

Nor need'st thou mourn the transient date
To thy best works assign'd by Fate-
While some chefs-d'œuvre live to weary one,
Thine boast a short life and a merry one;
Their hour of glory past and gone
With « Molly, put the kettle on!»

But, bless my soul! I've scarce a leaf
Of paper left-so, must be brief.

This festive Fète, in fact, will be
The former Fête's fac-simile;1
The same long Masquerade of Rooms,
Trick'd in such different, quaint costumes,
(These, P-RT-R, are thy glorious works!)
You'd swear Egyptians, Moors, and Turks,
Bearing Good-Taste some deadly malice,
Had clubb'd to raise a Pic-Nic Palace;
And each, to make the oglio pleasant,
Had sent a State-Room as a present;-
The same fauteuils and girondoles-
The same gold Asses,3 pretty souls!
That, in this rich and classic dome,
Appear so perfectly at home!

The same bright river 'mongst the dishes,
But not-ah! not the same dear fishes-
Late hours and claret kill'd the old ones!
So, 'stead of silver and of gold ones
(It being rather hard to raise
Fish of that specie now-a-days),

Some sprats have been, by Y-RM-TH S wish,
Promoted into Silver Fish,

And Gudgeons (so V-NS-TT-T told
The R-G-T) are as good as Gold!

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'Hearts are not flint, yet flints are rent,
Hearts are not steel, yet steel is bent.

After all, however, Mr. Sc-tt may well say to the Colonel (and, indeed, to much better wags than the Colonel), past paperiodas n μιμείσθαι.

C-rl-t-n He will exhibit a complete fac-simile, in respect 10 interior ornament, to what it did at the last Fête. The same splendid draperies, etc. etc.--Morning Post.

The salt-cellars on the P--'s own table were in the form of an Ass with panniers.

APPENDIX.

LETTER IV, Page 130.

AMONG the papers inclosed in Dr. D-G-N-N'S Letter, there is an Heroic Epistle in Latin verse, from POPE JOAN to her Lover, of which, as it is rather a curious document, I shall venture to give some account. This female Pontiff was a native of England (or, according to others, of Germany) who, at an early age, disguised herself in male attire, and followed her lover, a young ecclesiastic, to Athens, where she studied with such effect, that upon her arrival at Rome she was thought worthy of being raised to the Pontificate. This Epistle is addressed to her Lover (whom she had elevated to the dignity of Cardinal), soon after the fatal accouchement, by which her Fallibility was betrayed. She begins by reminding him very tenderly of the time when they were in Athens-when

«By Ilissus' stream

We whispering walk'd along, and learn'd to speak
The tenderest feelings in the purest Greek;
Ah! then how little did we think or hope,
Dearest of men! that I should c'er be POPE!!
That I-the humble Joan-whose house-wife art
Seem'd 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 catastrophe as had happened in Council would befal them-that she

«Should thus surprise the Conclave's grave decorum And let a little Pope pop out before 'emPope Innocent! alas, the only one

That name should ever have been fix'd upon !»

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