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 France my native land,
I would have follow'd with quick heart and hand,
NAPOLEON, NERO-ay, no matter whom-
To snatch my country from that damning doom,
That deadliest curse that on the conquer'd waits-
A Conqueror's satrap, thron'd within her gates!

LETTER XI.

FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO

YES, 'twas a cause, as noble and as great
As ever hero died to vindicate-

A Nation's right to speak a Nation's voice,
And own no power but of the Nation's choice!
Such was the grand, the glorious cause that now
Hung trembling on NAPOLEON'S single brow;
Such the sublime arbitrament, that pour'd,
In patriot eyes, a light around his sword,
A hallowing light, which never, since the day
Of his young victories, had illum'd its way!

Oh, 'twas not then the time for tame debates,
Ye men of Gaul, when chains were at your gates;
When he, who late had fled your Chieftain's eye,
As geese from eagles on Mount Taurus fly,'
Denounc'd against the land, that spurn'd his chain,
Myriads of swords to bind it fast again-
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 NAPOLEON much, but freedom more,
And, in that coming strife, appall'd to see
The world yet left one chance for liberty!-

1 See Elian, lib. v. cap. 29,- who tells us that these geese, from a consciousness of their own loquacity, always cross Mount Taurus with stones in their bills, to prevent any unlucky cackle from betraying them to the eagles – διαπετονται σιωπώντες.

2 Somebody (Fontenelle, I believe,) has said, that if he had his

LETTER XII.

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY
AT last, DOLLY,-thanks to a potent emetic,
Which BOBBY and Pa, with grimace sympathetic,
Have swallow'd this morning to balance the bliss,
Of an eel matelote and a bisque d'écrevisses —
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-I blush-and would often ex-
claim,

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

hand full of truths, he would open but one finger at a time: ani the same sort of reserve I find to be necessary with respect to Mr. 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.

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 tabbinet! While 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!

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-
About English affairs an odd blunder or two.

And-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 3 notions Should send his poor brats to the Foundling,

my dear!

As, full of romance, through that valley we wander'd.

-GH;

And sure such a blunder no mortal hit ever

on

But politics ne'er were the sweet fellow's trade! 'Twas for war and the ladies my Colonel was made. And, oh, had you heard, as together we walk'd Through that beautiful forest, how sweetly he talk'd;

1 The column in the Place Vendôme.

Employant pour cela le plus beau papier doré, séchant l'écritare avec de la poudre d'azur et d'argent, et cousant mes cahiers aver 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 Poern-but tell me, how is it
When I cry out "Exquisite," Echo cries" quiz it!"

down,

When he ask'd me, with eagerness,—who made my gown?

The question confused me -for, DOLL, you must know,

And I ought to have told my best friend long ago,

4 The flower which Rousseau brought into such fashion among the Parisians, by exclaiming one day," Ah, voilà de la pervenche!" 5" Mon ours, voilà votre asyle-et vous, mon ours, ne viendrez vous pas aussi ?"-&c. &c.

6" 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 fut dépouillée pour me vêtir, que, dans mon émotion, je baisai vingt fois en pleurant le billet et le jupon."

That, by Pa's strict command, I no longer employ1
That enchanting couturière, Madame LE RO1;
But am forc'd now to have VICTORINE, who-
deuce take her!-

It seems is, at present, the King's mantua-maker-
I mean of his party—and, though much the smartest,
LE ROI is condemn'd as a rank Bonapartist.2
Think, DOLL, how confounded I look'd-so well
knowing

The Colonel's opinion-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 'tis plain to be seen
"It was made by that Bourbonite b-

66

TORINE!"

-h, VIC

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-" for there is,"
Said he, looking solemn," the tomb of the VERYS!
"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 VERYS-I'll visit their bones!"

He insists upon my going with him-how teasing! This letter, however, dear DOLLY, shall lie Unseal'd in my draw'r, that, if anything pleasing Occurs while I'm out, I may tell you—good-bye. B. F.

1 Miss Biddy's notions of French pronunciation may be perceived in the rhymes she always selects for "Le Roi."

2" 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.

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-
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 birth-day- September
The thirtieth, dear, I'm eighteen, you remember-
That Boв 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 man, whom I fondly had fancied a King,

And, when that too delightful illusion was past, As a hero had worshipp'd-vile,treacherous thingTo turn out but a low linen-draper at last! My head swam around-the wretch smil'd, I believe,

But his smiling, alas, could no longer deceiveI fell back on BOB-my whole heart seem'd to wither

And, pale as a ghost, I was carried back hither! I only remember that BOB, as I caught him,

With cruel facetiousness said, "Curse the Kiddy! "A staunch Revolutionist always I've thought him,

"But now I find out he's a Counter one, BIDDY!"

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

Only think, my dear creature, if this should be known

To that saucy, satirical thing, Miss MALONE! What a story 'twill be at Shandangan for ever! What laughs and what quizzing she'll have with the men!

It will spread through the country- and never, oh, never

Can BIDDY be seen at Kilrandy again! Farewell I shall do something desp'rate, I fearAnd, ah! if my fate ever reaches your ear,

One tear of compassion my DOLL will not grudge To her poor-broken-hearted-young friend, BIDDY FUDGE.

Nota bene-I am sure you will hear, with delight, That we're going, all three, to see BRUNET tonight,

A laugh will revive me—and kind Mr. Cox (Do you know him?) has got us the Governor's box.