Where the poor palace changes masters | The theme's temptations are amazing; Quicker than a snake its skin And is rolled out on castors While -'s borne on shoulders in: But where, in every change, no doubt, One special good your Lordship traces, That 'tis the Kings alone turn out, For him who writes a Tour, that he Reflecting how thy fame has grown And spread, beyond man's usual share, At home, abroad, till thou art known, Like Major Semple, everywhere! And marvelling with what powers breath of Your Lordship, having speeched to death Some hundreds of your fellow-men, Next speeched to Sovereigns' ears,— and when All sovereigns else were dozed, at last Speeched down the Sovereign1 of Belfast. Oh! 'mid the praises and the trophies Thou gain'st from Morosophs and Sophis, 'Mid all the tributes to thy fame, There's one thou shouldst be chiefly pleased at That Ireland gives her snuff thy name, And Cgh's the thing now sneezed at! Buthold, my pen !-a truce to praising- 1 The title of the chief magistrate of Belfast, before whom his Lordship (with the studium immane loquendi' attributed by Ovid to that chattering and rapacious class of birds, the pies) delivered sundry long and self-gratulatory orations, on his return from the Continent. It was at one of these Irish dinners that his gallant brother, Lord S., proposed the health of The best cavalry officer in Europe-the Regent !' But time and ink run short, and now (As thou wouldst say, my guide and teache In these gay metaphoric fringes), I must embark into the feature On which this letter chiefly hinges ;a_ My Book, the Book that is to proveAnd will, so help ye Sprites above, That sit on clouds, as grave as judges, Watching the labours of the Fudges !Will prove that all the world, at present, Is in a state extremely pleasant: That Europe-thanks to royal swords And bayonets, and the Duke commanding Enjoys a peace which, like the Lord's, Passeth all human understanding: That F-ce prefers her go-cart To such a coward scamp as Though round, with each a leading. string, There standeth many a R-y-lcrony, For fear the chubby, tottering thing Should fall, if left there loney-poney That England, too, the more her debts, The more she spends, the richer gets; And that the Irish, grateful nation! Remember when by thee reigned over, And bless thee for their flagellation, As Heloisa did her lover! That Poland, left for Russia's lunch Upon the sideboard, snug reposes While Saxony's as pleased as Punch, That, as for some few million souls, And Norway on a bed of roses !' Transferred by contract, bless the clods! If half were strangled-Spaniards, Poles, And Frenchmen-'twouldn't make much odds, So Europe's goodly Royal ones 3 2 Verbatim from one of the noble Viscount's speeches: And now, sir, I must embark into the feature on which this question chiefly hinges.' 3 It would be an edifying thing to write a history of the private amusements of sovereigns, tracing them down from the fly-sticking of Domitian, the molecatching of Artabanus, the hog mimicking of Parmenides, the horse-currying of Aretas, to the petticoat embroidering of Ferdi 'Jul. thirty-first. Went, after snack, To the cathedral of St. Denny; Sighed o'er the kings of ages back, And-gave the old concierge a penny! (Mem.-Must see Rheims, much famed, 'tis said, For making kings and gingerbread.) Was shown the tomb where lay, so stately, A little B-bon, buried lately, Can boast such high and puissant sway! nand, and the patience-playing of the Pe R- -t. 1 So described on the coffin: "Très-haute et puissante Princesse, âgée d'un jour.' 2 There is a fulness and breadth in this portrait of Royalty which remind us of what Pliny says in speaking of Trajan's great qualities: 'Nonne longe lateque Principem ostentant ?' 3 See the Quarterly Review for May 1816, where Mr. Hobhouse is accused of having written 1 The fairy-land of cookery and gourmandise: 'Pays, où le ciel offre les viandes toutes cuites, et où, comme on parle, les alouettes tombent toutes roties. Du Latin, coquere.'-Dachat. The process by which the liver of the unfortunate goose is enlarged, in order to produce that richest of all dainties, the foie gras, of which such renowned pátés are made at Strasbourg and Toulouse, is thus described in the Cours Gastronomique: 'On déplume l'estomac des oies; on attache ensuite ces animaux aux chenets d'une cheminée, et on les nourrit devant le feu. La captivité et la chaleur donnent à ces volatiles une maladie hépatique, qui fait gonfler leur foie,' ctc.-P. 206. I rise-put on neckcloth—stiff, tight as can be-- For, a lad who goes into the world, Dick, like me, Should have his neck tied up, you know -there's no doubt of it— Almost as tight as some lads who go out of it, With whiskers well oiled, and with boots that 'hold up The mirror to nature'-so bright you could sup Off the leather like china; with coat, too, that draws On the tailor, who suffers, a martyr's applause! With head bridled up, like a four-inhand leader, And stays-devil's in them-too tight for a feeder, would not, I think, have been so irreverent to this beverage of scholars, if he had read Peter Petit's Poem in praise of Tea, addressed to the learned Huet; or the Epigraph which Pechlinus wrote for an altar he meant to dedicate to this herb; or the Anacreontics of Peter Francius, in which he calls tea Θεαν, θεην, θεαιναν. Θεοις, θεων τε πατρί 3 Is Mr. Bob aware that his contempt for tea renders him liable to a charge of atheism? Such, at least, is the opinion cited in Christian. Falster. Amanitat. Philolog: Atheum interpretabatur hominem ab herbâ The aversum.' But a sideboard, you dog, where one's | Here toddles along some old figure of eye roves about, Like a Turk's in the harem, and thence singles out One's pâté of larks, just to tune up the throat, One's small limbs of chickens, done en papillote, One's erudite cutlets, drest all ways but plain, Or one's kidneys-imagine, Dick-done with champagne! Then some glasses of Beaune to diluteor, mayhap, Chambertin, which you know.'s the pet tipple of Nap, 1 And which Dad, by the by, that legitimate stickler, Much scruples to taste, but I'm not so partic'lar. Your coffee comes next, by prescription; and then, Dick, 's The coffee's ne'er-failing and glorious appendix (If books had but such, my old Grecian, depend on't I'd swallow even W-tk-n's, for sake of the end on't)— A neat glass of parfait-amour, which one sips Just as if bottled velvet tipped over one's lips! This repast being ended, and paid for (how odd! Till a man's used to paying there's something so queer in't) The sun now well out, and the girls all abroad, And the world enough aired for us We lounge up the Boulevards, whereoh Dick, the phizzes, The turn-outs, we meet-what a nation of quizzes ! fun, With a coat you might date Anno Domini One; A laced hat, worsted stockings, and— noble old soul! A fine ribbon and cross in his best button-hole; Just such as our Pr-e, who nor reason nor fun dreads, Inflicts, without even a court-martial, on hundreds.2 Here trips a grisette, with a fond, roguish eye (Rather eatable things these grisettes by the by); And there an old demoiselle, almost as fond, In a silk that has stood since the time of the Fronde. There goes a French dandy-ah, Dick! unlike some ones We've seen about White's-the Mounseers are but rum ones; Such hats!-fit for monkeys-I'd back Mrs. Draper Yes, let Hebe, ever young, High in heaven her nectar hold, And to Jove's immortal throng Pour the tide in cups of gold.I'll not envy heaven's princes, While, with snowy hands, for me, Kate the china tea-cup rinses, And pours out her best Bohea! 1 The favourite wine of Napoleon. 2 It was said by Wicquefort, more than a hundred years ago, 'Le Roi d'Angleterre fait seul plus de chevaliers que tous les autres Rois de la Chrétienté ensemble.' What would he say now ? What with captains in new jockey boots | No !-let them stay, who in their counand silk breeches, try's pangs See nought but food for factions and harangues; Who yearly kneel before their masters' doors, And hawk their wrongs as beggars do their sores; Still let your3 Even in the fields where free those O E ! could such poor revenge For wrongs that well might claim the deadliest one; Were it a vengeance, sweet enough to sate The wretch who flies from thy intolerant hate, To hear his curses, on such barbarous sway, Echoed where'er he bends his cheerless way; I have thought it prudent to omit some parts of Mr. Phelim Connor's letter. He is evidently an intemperate young man, and has associated with his cousins, the Fudges, to very little purpose. |