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66 And

But there," said he, (pointing where, small and remote,

[wrote, The dear Hermitage rose,) “there his JULIE he “ Upon paper gilt-edg’d,* without blot or erasure ; 6. Then sanded it over with silver and azure,

-oh, what will genius and fancy not do? “ Tied the leaves up together with nompareille blue!” What a trait of Rousseau ! what a crowd of emotions

From sand and blue ribbons are conjur'd up here! Alas, that a man of such exquisite f notions Should send his poor brats to the Foundling, my

dear!

“'Twas here, too, perhaps," Colonel CALICOT

said As down the small garden he pensively led (Though once I could see his sublime forehead

wrinkle With rage not to find there the lov'd periwinkle) I

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

† This word, “exquisite,” is evidently a favourite of Miss Fudge's; and I understand she was not a little angry when her brother Bob committed a pun on the last two syllables of it in the following couplet :“I'd fain praise your Poem— but tell me, how is

When I cry out “Exquisite,” Echo cries" quiz it?| The flower which Rousseau brought into such fashion among the Parisians, by exclaiming one day, “ Ah, voilà de la pervenche!”

66 ’T was here he receiv'd from the fair D'EPINAY “(Who call'd him so sweetly her Bear,* every day,) “ That dear flannel petticoat, pull’d off to form “A waistcoat, to keep the enthusiast warm !”†

Such, Doll, were the sweet recollections we pon

der'd, As, full of romance, through that valley we wander'd. The flannel (one's train of ideas, how odd it is!) Led us to talk about other commodities, Cambric, and silk, and I ne'er shall forget, For the sun was then hast’ning in pomp to its set, And full on the Colonel's dark whiskers shone down, When he ask'd me, with eagerness,

who made my gown?

[know, The question confus’d me for, DOLL, you must And I ought to have told my best friend long ago, That, by Pa’s strict command, I no longer employ I That enchanting couturière, Madame Le Roi; But am forc'd now to have VICTORINE, who

deuce take her! It seems is at present, the King's mantua-maker

*“ Mon ours, voilà votre asyle — et vous, mon murs, ne viendrez vous pas aussi?” – etc. etc.

f “ Un jour, qu'il geloit très fort, en ouvrant un paquet qu'elle m'envoyoit, je trouvai un petit jupon de flanelle d'Angleterre, qu'elle me marquoit avoir porté, et dont elle vouloit que je me fisse faire un gilet. Ce soin, plus qu'amical, me parut si tendre, comme si elle se fût dépouillée pour me vétir, que, dans mon émotion, je baisai vingt fois en pleurant le billet et le jupon."

| Miss Biddy notions of French pronunciation may be perceived in the rhymes which she always selects for “ Le Roi.

so well

I mean of his party and, though much the smartest,
Le Roi is condemn'd as a rank Bonapartist.*
Think, Doll, how confounded I look'd

knowing The Colonel's opinions — my cheeks were quite

glowing; I stammer'd out something — nay, even half nam’d The legitimate sempstress, when, loud, he exclaim'd, “Yes, yes, by the stitching 't is plain to be seen “It was made by that Bourbonite b- -h, Victo

RINE!”

What a word for a hero ! - but heroes will err,
And I thought, dear, I'd tell you things just as they

were.

Besides, though the word on good manners intrench, I assure you 't is not half so shocking in French.

But this cloud, though embarrassing, soon pass'd away, And the bliss altogether, the dreams of that day, The thoughts that arise, when such dear fellows woo

us, The nothings that then, love, are every thing to us That quick correspondence of glances and sighs, And what Bob calls the “Twopenny-post of the

Eyes” — Ah, Doll! though I know you've a heart, 't is in vain To a heart so unpractis'd these things to explain.

* LE Roi, who was the Couturière of the Empress Maria Louisa, is at present, of course, out of fashion, and is succeeded in her station by the Royalist mantua-maker, VICTORINE.

They can only be felt, in their fulness divine,
By her who has wander'd, at evening's decline,
Through a valley like that, with a Colonel like mine!

66

But here I must finish- for Bob, my dear Dolly, Whom physic, I find, always makes melancholy, Is seiz'd with a fancy for church-yard reflections ; And, full of all yesterday's rich recollections, Is just setting off for Montmartre

6 for there is," Said he, looking solemn, “the tomb of the VÉRYS !* Long, long have I wish’d, as a votary true, “ O'er the grave

of such talents to utter my moans ; “ And to-day — as my stomach is not in good cue “ For the flesh of the VÉRYS — I'll visit their

bones!He insists upon my going with him — how teasing !

This letter, however, dear Dolly, shall lie Unseald in my draw'r, that, if any thing pleasing Occurs while I'm out, I may tell you — good-bye.

B: F.

Four o'clock. Oh, Dolly, dear Dolly, I'm ruin’d for ever I ne'er shall be happy again, Dolly, never ! To think of the wretch- - what a victim was I! 'Tis too much to endure - I shall die, I shall die

* It is the brother of the present excellent Restaurateur who lies entombed so magnificently in the Cimetière Montmartre. The inscription on the column at the head of the tomb concludes with the following words: :-"Toute sa vie fut consacrée aux arts utiles."

My brain's in a fever - my pulses beat quick
I shall die, or, at least, be exceedingly sick!
Oh, what do you think? after all my romancing,
My visions of glory, my sighing, my glancing,
This Colonel — I scarce can commit it to paper
This Colonel's no more than a vile linen-draper!!
'Tis true as I live — I had coax'd brother Bob so,
(You'll hardly make out what I'm writing, I sob so,)
For some little gift on my birthday — September
The thirtieth, dear, I’m eighteen, you remember
That Bob to a shop kindly order'd the coach,
(Ah, little I thought who the shopman would

prove) To bespeak me a few of those mouchoirs de poche, Which, in happier hours, I have sigh'd for, my

love (The most beautiful things — two Napoleons the

price And one's name in the corner embroider'd so nice !) Well, with heart full of pleasure, I enter'd the shop, But-ye Gods, what a phantom!-I thought I

should drop There he stood, my dear DOLLY — no room for a

doubt There, behind the vile counter, these eyes saw

him stand, With a piece of French cambric, before him roll’d

out, And that horrid yard-measure uprais'd in his

hand! VOL. II

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