This hidden Paradise, this mine of fanes,
Gardens, and palaces, where Pleasure reigns
In a rich, sunless empire of her own,
With all earth's luxuries lighting up her throne;
A realm for mystery made, which undermines
The Nile itself, and, 'neath the Twelve Great
Shrines

That keep Initiation's holy rite,

Spreads its long labyrinths of unearthly light,
A light that knows no charge-its brooks that run
Too deep for day, its gardens without sun,
Where soul and sense, by turns, are charm'd,
surprised;

And all that bard or prophet e'er devised
For man's Elysium, priests have realized.

Here, at this moment,-all his trials past,
And heart and nerve unshrinking to the last,-
The young Initiate roves, as yet left free
To wander through this realm of mystery,
Feeding on such illusions as prepare
The soul, like mist o'er waterfalls, to wear
All shapes and hues, at Fancy's varying will,
Through every shifting aspect, vapour still;—
Vague glimpses of the Future, vistas shown,
By scenic skill, into that world unknown,
Which, saints and sinners claim alike their own;
And all those other witching, wildering arts,
Illusions, terrors, that make human hearts,
Ay, ev'n the wisest and the hardiest, quail
To any goblin throned behind a veil.

Yes, such the spells shall haunt his eye, his ear,
Mixt with his night-dreams, from his atmosphere;
Till, if our Sage be not tamed down, at length,
His wit, his wisdom, shorn of all their strength,
Like Phrygian priests, in honour of the shrine,
If he become not absolutely mine,
Body and soul, and, like the tame decoy
Which wary hunters of wild doves employ,
Draw converts also, lure his brother wits
To the dark cage where his own spirit flits,
And give us, if not saints, good hypocrites,—
If I effect not this, then be it said
The ancient spirit of our craft hath fled,
Gone with that serpent-god the Cross hath chased

To hiss its soul out in the Theban waste.

INTERCEPTED LETTERS;

ок,

THE TWOPENNY POST BAG.

E lapse manibus cecidêre tabellæ.-Ovid.

PREFACE.

secrets was worth a whole host of informers; and, accordingly, like the Cupids of the poet if I may use so protane a simile) who "fell at odds about the sweet-bag of a bee," those venerable suppressors almost fought with each other for the honour and delight of first ransacking the Post Bag. Unluckily, however, it turned out, upon examination, that the discoveries of profligacy, which it enabled them to make, lay chietly in those upper regions of society, which their wellbred regulations forbid them to molest or meddle with. In consequence, they gained but very few victims by their prize, and, after lying for a week or two under Mr. H-TCH-D's counter, the Bag, with its violated contents, was sold for a trifle to a friend of mine.

It happened that I had just then been seized with an ambition (having never tried the strength of my wing but in a newspaper) to publish something or other in the shape of a book; and it occurred to me that, the present being such a letterwriting era, a few of these twopenny post epistles, turned into easy verse, would be as light and popular a task as I could possibly select for a commencement. I did not think it prudent, however, to give too many Letters at first; and, accordingly, have been obliged (in order to eke out a sufficient number of pages) to reprint some of those trifles which had already appeared in the public journals. As, in the battles of ancient times, the shades of the departed were sometimes seer among the combatants, so I thought I might re

medy the thinness of my ranks, by conjuring up a few dead and forgotten ephemerons to fill them.

Such are the motives and accidents that led to

the present publication; and as this is the first time my muse has ever ventured out of the go-cart of a newspaper, though I feel all a parent's delight at seeing little Miss go alone, I am also not without a parent's anxiety, lest an unlucky fall should be the consequence of the experiment; and I need not point out the many living instances there are of Muses that have suffered severely in their heads, from taking too early and rashly to their feet. Besides, a book is so very different a thing from a newspaper!-in the former, your doggerel, without either company or shelter, must stand shivering in the middle of a bleak white page by itself; whereas, in the latter, it is comfortly backed by advertisements, and has sometimes even a Speech of Mr. St-ph-n's, or something equally warm, for a chauffe-pie,-so that, in general, the very reverse of "laudatur et alget" is its destiny. Ambition, however, must run some risks, and I shall be very well satisfied if the reception of these few Letters should have the effect of sending me to the Post Bag for more.

PREFACE TO THE FOURTEENTH EDITION.

BY A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR.

* Herrick.

Quick a council is call'd-the whole cabinet sitsThe Archbishops declare, frighten'd out of their wits,

That if vile Popish ponies should eat at my manger, From that awful moment the Church is in danger! As, give them but stabling, and shortly no stalls Will suit their proud stomachs but those of St. Paul's.

The Doctor, and he, the devout man of Leather, V-ns-tt-t, now laying their saint-heads together,

Declare that these skittish young a-bominations
Are clearly foretold in chap. vi. Revelations-
Nay, they verily think they could point out the one
Which the Doctor's friend Death was to canter
upon!

Lord H-rr-by, hoping that no one imputes
To the Court any fancy to persecute brutes,
Protests, on the word of himself and his cronies,

That had these said creatures been Asses, not
Ponies,

The court would have started no sort of objection, As Asses were, there, always sure of protection.

"If the Pr-nc-ss will keep them (says Lord C-stl-r-gh,)

To make them quite harmless the only true way
Is (as certain Chief-Justices do with their wives)
To flog them within half an inch of their lives-
If they've any bad Irish blood lurking about,
This (he knew by experience) would soon draw

it out."

Or if this be thought cruel-his Lordship proposes

"The new Veto-snaffle to bind down their nosesA pretty contrivance, made out of old chains, Which appears to indulge, while it doubly re

strains;

This proposal received pretty general applause From the statesmen around-and the neck-breaking clause

Had a vigour about it, which soon reconciled
Even Eld-n himself to a measure so mild.
So the snaffles, my dear, were agreed to nem. con.,
And my Lord C-stl-r-gh, having so often shone
In the fettering line, is to buckle them on.

I shall drive to your door in these Vetos some day,
But, at present, adieu!-I must hurry away
To go see my mamma, as I'm suffered to meet her
For just half an hour by the Qu-n's best repeater.
C-E.

LETTER II.

FROM COLONEL M'M-H-N TO G-LD
FR-NC-SL-CKIE, ESQ.

DEAR Sir, I've just had time to look
Into your very learned book,*

* See the Edinburgh Review, No. xl.

Wherein-as plain as man can speak,
Whose English is half modern Greek-
You prove that we can ne'er intrench
Our happy isles against the French,
Till Royalty in England's made
A much more independent trade-
In short, until the House of Guelph
Lays Lords and Commons on the shelf,
And boldly sets up for itself!

All, that can well be understood
In this said book, is vastly good:
And, as to what's incomprehensible,
I dare be sworn 'tis full as sensible;

But, to your work's immortal credit,
The P-e, good sir,-the P-e has read it.
(The only book, himself remarks,
Which he has read since Mrs. Clarke's.)

Last levee-morn he look'd it through
During that awful hour or two
Of grave tonsorial preparation,
Sends forth, announced by trump and drum,
Which, to a fond admiring nation,
The best-wigg'd P-
-e in Christendom!

He thinks, with you, the imagination
Of p
partnership in legislation
Could only enter in the noddles
Of dull and ledger-keeping twaddles,
Whose heads on firms are running so,
They even must have a King and Co.
And hence, too, eloquently show forth
On checks and balances, and so forth.

But now,

he trusts, we are coming near a Better and more royal era; When England's monarch need but say,

66

Whip me those scoundrels, C-stl-r-gh!" Or-"hang me up those Papists, Eld-n,' And 'twill be done-ay, faith, and well done.

With view to which, I've his command
To beg, sir, from your travell'd hand
(Round which the foreign graces swarm)
A plan of radical reform;
Compiled and chosen, as best you can,
In Turkey or at Ispahan,
And quite upturning, branch and root,
Lords, Commons, and Burdett to boot!

But, pray, whate'er you may impart, write
Somewhat more brief than Major C-rtwr―ght;
Else, though the P- -e be long in rigging,
'Twould take, at least, a fortnight's wigging;
Two wigs to every paragraph-
Before he well could get through half.

You'll send it, also, speedily--
As, truth to say, 'twixt you and me,
His Highness, heated by your work,
Already thinks himself Grand Turk !
And you'd have laugh'd, had you seen how
He scared the Ch-nc-ll-r just now,
When (on his Lordship's entering puff"d) he
Slapp'd his back and call'd him "Mufti!"
The tailors, too, have got commands
To put directly into hands

All sorts of dulimans and pouches,
With sashes, turbans, and pabouches
While Y-rm-th's sketching out a plan
Of new moustaches a l' Ottomane,)
And all things fitting and expedient
To Turkify our gracious R-g-nt!

You therefore have no time to waste

So send your system.―

Your's, in haste.

POSTSCRIPT.

Before I send this scrawl away,

I seize a moment, just to say
There's some parts of the Turkish system
So vulgar, 'twere as well you miss'd 'em.
For instance in Seraglio matters-
Your Turk, whom girlish fondness flatters,
Would fill his Harem (tasteless fool!)
With tittering, red-cheek'd things from school-
But here (as in that fairy land,

Where Love and Age went hand in hand ;*
Where lips till sixty shed no honey,
And Grandams were worth any money)
Our Sultan has much riper notions-
So, let your list of she-promotions
Include those only, plump and sage,
Who've reached the regulation age;
That is as near as one can fix
From Peerage dates-full fifty-six.

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

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

'Tis 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 For his speech to the J-y, and zounds! who would grudge

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,

And we cared not for Juries or Libels-no

dam'me! nor

and there in the court, some at chuck-farthing, others at tip-cat or at cockles."-And again, "There is nothing, believe me, more engaging than those lovely wrinkles," etc. etc.-See Tales of the East, vol. iii., pp. 607, 608.

†This letter, as the reader will perceive, was written the day after a dinner, given by the M

H-d

of

too

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

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

Dublin.*

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-
With all the dirt even you can pick up-
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!-
You must indeed-hiccup-that's flat."

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 !-t
Was it for this that back I went
As far as Lateran and Trent,

To prove that they, who damn'd us then,
Ought now, in turn, be damn'd again!-
The silent victim still to sit

Of GR-TT-N's fire and C-NN-G's wit,
To hear even noisy M-TH-w gabble on
Nor mention once the W-e of Babylon!
Oh! 'tis 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, 'tis 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!

P. D. Among the Inclosures in the foregoing Letter was the following" Unanswerable Argument against the Papists."

WE'RE told the ancient Roman nation
Made use of spittle in lustration.—†
(Vide Lactantium ap. Gallæum-‡
I. e. you need not read but see 'em.)
Now, Irish Papists (fact surprising !)
Make use of spittle in baptizing,

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 baptized with spittle
Hath no truth in him-not a tittle!