But a side-board, you dog, where one's eye roves There goes a French Dandy-ah, DICK! unlike To cut neater weather-boards out of brown paper: Then, some glasses of Beaune, to dilute- -or, may- They'd club for old BR-MM-L, from Calais, to Chambertin, which you know's the pet tipple of The collar sticks out from the neck such a space, That you'd swear 'twas the plan of this headlopping nation, NAP, And which Dad, by the by, that legitimate stickler, The coffee's ne'er-failing and glorious appendix, A neat glass of parfait-amour, which one sips The sun now well out, and the girls all abroad, To leave there behind them a snug little place Some mummers by trade, and the rest amateurs— Old dustmen with swinging great opera-hats, And shoeblacks reclining by statues in niches, There never was seen such a race of Jack Sprats! From the Boulevards- but hearken!-yes-as The clock is just striking the half-hour to dinner: We lounge up the Boulevards, where-oh, DICK, So no more at present-short time for adorning — the phyzzes, My Day must be finish'd some other fine morn- The turn-outs, we meet - what a nation of quizzes ! Now, hey for old BEAUVILLIERS' 4 larder, my boy! Inflicts, without ev'n a court-martial, on hundreds.3 In a silk that has stood since the time of the Fronde. R. FUDGE. LETTER IV. FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO That monster, Self, too gross to be conceal'd, "RETURN!"—no, never, while the with'ring hand Back to his masters, ready gagg'd and chain'd! Of bigot power is on that hapless land; Still hope and suffer, all who can!—but I, But whither?-every where the scourge pursues- Worthy associate of that band of Kings, That royal, rav'ning flock, whose vampire wings That 'twas an Irish head, an Irish heart, When will the world shake off such yokes? oh, Will that redeeming day shine out on men, Of Truth and Freedom, wheresoe'er they glow-To the vile pagod things, that o'er her brow, Is first, when tyrants strike, to aid the blow. Oh, E-gl-d! could such poor revenge atone Were this his lux'ry, never is thy name "They used to leave a yard square of the wall of the house unplastered, on which they wrote, in large letters, either the fore-mentioned verse of the Psalmist (If I forget thee, O Jerusalem,' &c.) or the words - The memory of the desolation."-Leo of Modena. I have thought it prudent to omit some parts of Mr. Phelim Connor's letter. He is evidently an intemperate Like him of Jaghernaut, drive trampling now; When will this be ?-or, oh! is it, in truth, Are they the only wise, who laugh to scorn Who, proud to kiss each sep'rate rod of pow'r, * * * * * ** But, Lord, such a place ! and then, DoLLY, my dresses, My gowns, so divine!- there's no language ex presses, Except just the two words "superbe," "magnifique," The trimmings of that which I had home last week! It is call'd-I forget-à la-something which sounded Like alicampane-but, in truth, I'm confounded And bother'd, my dear, 'twixt that troublesome boy's (BOB'S) Cookery language, and Madame LE Ror's: I can scarce tell the diff'rence, at least as to phrase, poking, - so beautiful! - high up and Like things that are put to keep chimnies from smoking. Where shall I begin with the endless delights But dressing and dinnering, dancing and acting? Brother BOBBY's remark, t'other night, was a true one; "This must be the music," said he, "of the spears, "For I'm curst if each note of it doesn't run through one!" Pa says (and you know, love, his Book's to make out 'Twas the Jacobins brought ev'ry mischief about) That this passion for roaring has come in of late, Since the rabble all tried for a voice in the State.What a frightful idea, one's mind to o'erwhelm! What a chorus, dear DOLLY, would soon be let loose of it, If, when of age, every man in the realm Had a voice like old Laïs 2, and chose to make use of it! Tun' trium literarum homo Me vituperas? Fur. PLAUTUS, Aulular. Act. ii. Scene 4. 2 The oldest, most celebrated, and most noisy of the singers at the French Opera. a Dissaldeus supposes this word to be a glossema: that is, he thinks "Fur" has made his escape from the margin into the text. No-never was known in this riotous sphere Here DANIEL, in pantomime 3, bids bold defiance To NEBUCHADNEZZAR and all his stuff'd lions, While pretty young Israelites dance round the Prophet, In very thin clothing, and but little of it ; And composing a fine rumbling base to a cholic! Here BÉGRAND 4, who shines in this scriptural path, As the lovely SUZANNA, without ev'n a relic Of drapery round her, comes out of the bath In a manner that, BOB says, is quite Eve-angelic! But in short, dear, 'twould take me a month to recite All the exquisite places we're at, day and night; And, besides, ere I finish, I think you'll be glad Just to hear one delightful adventure I've had. Fly, fly to TITANIA, and ask her if she has One light-footed nymph in her train, that can dance Like divine BIGOTTINI and sweet FANNY BIAS! FANNY BIAS in FLORA-dear creature!-you'd Last night, at the Beaujon 5, a place where-I doubt swear, When her delicate feet in the dance twinkle If its charms I can paint-there are cars, that set out round, That her steps are of light, that her home is the air, And she only par complaisance touches the ground. And when BIGOTTINI in PSYCHÉ dishevels Her black flowing hair, and by dæmons is driven, Oh! who does not envy those rude little devils, That hold her and hug her, and keep her from heaven? Then, the music-so softly its cadences die, From a lighted pavilion, high up in the air, And rattle you down DOLL—you hardly know where. These vehicles, mind me, in which you go through This delightfully dangerous journey, hold two. Some cavalier asks, with humility, whether You'll venture down with him—you smile—'tis a match; In an instant you're seated, and down both together Go thund'ring, as if you went post to old scratch !6 Well, it was but last night, as I stood and remark'd On the looks and odd ways of the girls who embark'd, The impatience of some for the perilous flight, What a crisis 'twould be for your friend BIDDY The forc'd giggle of others, 'twixt pleasure and FUDGE! The next place (which BOBBY has near lost his heart in) fright, That there came up-imagine, dear DOLL, if you can A fine sallow, sublime, sort of Werter-fac'd man, They call it the Play-house- I think of St. With mustachios that gave (what we read of so oft) The dear Corsair expression, half savage, half soft, Martin; 1 Quite charming—and very religious - what folly To say that the French are not pious, dear DOLLY, When here one beholds, so correctly and rightly, The Testament turn'd into melo-drames nightly; 2 And, doubtless, so fond they're of scriptural facts, They will soon get the Pentateuch up in five acts. The Théâtre de la Porte St.-Martin, which was built when the Opera House in the Palais Royal was burnt down, in 1781. A few days after this dreadful fire, which lasted more than a week, and in which several persons perished, the Parisian élégantes displayed flame-coloured dresses, "couleur de feu d'Opéra !" - Dulaure, Curiosités de Paris. 2 The Old Testament," says the theatrical Critic in the Gazette de France, "is a mine of gold for the managers of our small play-houses. A multitude crowd round the Théâtre de la Gaieté every evening to see the Passage of the Red Sea." In the play-bill of one of these sacred melo-drames at Vienna, we find "The Voice of G-d, by M. Schwartz." 3 A piece very popular last year, called "Daniel, ou La Fosse aux Lions." The following scene will give an idea of As Hyænas in love may be fancied to look, or head, (Rather bald, but so warlike !) in bad English said, the daring sublimity of these Scriptural pantomimes. "Scène 20. La fournaise devient un berceau de nuages azurés, au fond duquel est un groupe de nuages plus lumineux, et au milieu Jehovah' au centre d'un cercle de rayons brillans, qui annonce la présence de l'E'ternel." 4 Madame Bégrand, a finely-formed woman, who acts in Susanna and the Elders,""L'Amour et la Folie," &c., &c. 5 The Promenades Aériennes, or French Mountains. See a description of this singular and fantastic place of amusement in a pamphlet, truly worthy of it, by "F. F. Cotterel Médecin, Docteur de la Faculté de Paris," &c. &c. 6 According to Dr. Cotterel the cars go at the rate of fortyeight miles an hour. 66 "Ah! my dear-if Ma'mselle vil be so very Fly to the Beaujon, and there seek relief By rattling, as Boв says, like shot through a holly-bush." good Just for von littel course"-though I scarce understood What he wish'd me to do, I said, thank him, I would. Off we set-and, though faith, dear, I hardly knew whether My head or my heels were the uppermost then, For 'twas like heav'n and earth, DOLLY, coming together, Yet, spite of the danger, we dar'd it again. And oh as I gaz'd on the features and air Of the man, who for me all this peril defied, I could fancy almost he and I were a pair Of unhappy young lovers, who thus, side by side, Were taking, instead of rope, pistol, or dagger, a Desperate dash down the falls of Niagara ! I must now bid adieu ;-only think, DOLLY, think If this should be the King- I have scarce slept a wink With imagining how it will sound in the papers And how all the Misses my good luck will grudge, When they read that Count RUPPIN, to drive away vapours, Has gone down the Beaujon with Miss BIDDY Nota Bene. - Papa's almost certain 'tis he- LETTER VI. FROM PHIL. FUDGE, ESQ. TO HIS BROTHER TIM YOURS of the 12th receiv'd just now- 'Tis truly pleasing to see how We, FUDGES, stand by one another. Who's here now incog. 2-he, who made such a But never fear-I know my chap, fuss, you Remember, in London, with BLUCHER and PLA TOFF, And he knows me too-verbum sap. When SAL was near kissing old BLUCHER'S cra- Both fashion'd, as that supple race is, Us'd three times a day with young ladies in I play'd in 95 and 6, Some Doctor, indeed, has declar'd that such grief In the Café attached to these gardens there are to be (as Doctor Cotterel informs us)" douze nègres, très-alertes, qui contrasteront par l'ébène de leur peau avec le teint de lis et de roses de nos belles. Les glaces et les sorbets, servis par une As you remind me in your letter, main bien noire, fera davantage ressortir l'albâtre des bras 2 His Majesty, who was at Paris under the travelling name of Count Ruppin, is known to have gone down the Beaujon very frequently. |