LETTER VII. Page 133. The Manuscript which I found in the Bookseller's Letter, is a Melo-Drama, in two Acts, entitled «THE Book, of which the Theatres, of course, had had the refusal, before it was presented to Messrs. L-ck-ngt-n and Co.-This rejected Drama, however, possesses considerable merit, and I shall take the liberty of laying a sketch of it before my Readers. The first Act opens in a very awful manner:-Time, three o'clock in the morning-Scene, the Bourbon Chamber in C-rlt-n House-Enter the P--E R-G-T Solus.-After a few broken sentences, he thus exclaims: Away-away Thou haunt'st my fancy so, thou devilish Book! I see thy foolscap on my H—RTF—D's Spouse— And all thy blank-leaves stare from R-D-R's face! Thy List of dire Errata in myself. [Walks the stage in considerable agitation.] He is here interrupted in his Soliloquy by perceiving some scribbled fragments of paper on the ground, which he collects, and « by the light of two magnificent candelabras, discovers the following unconnected words —« Wife neglected»—« the Book»-« Wrong Measures» —a the Queen»—« Mr Lambert»-« the R—G—T.» Ha! treason in my House!-Curst words, that wither to maintain the becoming splendour of his office. » The R-G-T produces the appalling fragments, upon which the CH-NC-LL-R breaks out into exclamations of loyalty and tenderness, and relates the following portentous dream: T is scarcely two hours since there But bent and worshipp'd the Illustrious Pair That curl'd in conscious majesty! [pulls out his handkerchief]—while cries Of Whiskers! whiskers! shook the echoing skies!- Of papers hung-[wipes his eyes]—collected in her veil— Heavens, how it blazed!—I'd ask no livelier fire My wife! the Book, too!-stay-a nearer look-Ah! where was then the Sylphid, that unfurls He here rings all the bells, and a whole legion of Valets enter-A scene of cursing and swearing (very much in the German style) ensues, in the course of which messengers are dispatched, in different directions, for the L-rd Ch-nc-LL-R, the D-g of C—B—L—D, etc. etc.—The intermediate time is filled up by another soliloquy, at the conclusion of which the aforesaid Personages rush on alarmed-the D-E with his stays only half-laced, and the CH-NC-LLOR with his wig thrown hastily over an old red night-cap, 'There was a mysterious Book, in the 16th Century, which em ployed all the anxious curiosity of the learned of that day-Every one spoke of it: many wrote against it, though it does not appear that any body had ever seen it; and indeed Grotius is of opinion that no such book ever existed. It was entitled Liber de tribus Impostoribus. (See Morhof. Cap. de Libris damnatis.)-Our more modern mystery of the Book resembles this in many particulars; and, if the number of Lawyers employed in drawing it up he stated correctly, a slight alteration of the title into a tribus impostoribus would produce a coincidence altogether very remarkable. 2 The Chamber, I suppose, which was prepared for the reception of the Bourbons at the first Grand Fête, and which was ornamented (all for the deliverance of Europe ») with fleurs de lys. Her fairy standard in defence of curls? Here his Lordship weeps more profusely than ever, and the R-G-T (who has been very much agitated during the recital of the dream), by a movement as characteristic as that of Charles XII when he was shot, claps his hands to his whiskers to feel if all be really safe. A Privy Council is held—all the Servants, etc. are examined, and it appears that a Tailor, who had come to measure the R-G-T for a Dress (which takes three whole pages of the best superfine clinquant in describing), was the only person who had been in the Bourbon Chamber during the day. It is, accordingly, determined to seize the Tailor, and the Council breaks up with a unanimous resolution to be vigorous. The commencement of the Second Act turns chiefly upon the Trial and Imprisonment of two Brothers-but as this forms the under plot of the Drama, I shall content myself with extracting from it the following speech, 1. To enable the individual, who holds the office of Chancellor, to maintain it in becoming splendour. (A loud laugh.) Lord Castlereagh's Speech upon the Vice-Chancellor's Bill. which is addressed to the two brothers, as they « exeunt Look through all Europe's Kings-at least, those who severally» to Prison: Go to your prisons-though the air of Spring With the few loved-ones Heaven has placed it near, The scene next changes to a Tailor's Work-shop, and a fancifully-arranged group of these Artists is discovered upon the Shop-board-Their task evidently of a royal nature, from the profusion of gold-lace, frogs, etc. that lie about-They all rise and come forward, while one of them sings the following Stanzas, to the tune of . Derry Down.. My brave brother Tailors, come, straighten your knees, go loose Not a King of them all's such a friend to the Goose. So, God keep him increasing in size and renown, Still the fattest and best-fitted P-E about town! Derry down, etc. During the Derry down of this last verse, a messenger from the S-c-t-y of S--e's Office rushes on, and the singer (who, luckily for the effect of the scene, is the very Tailor suspected of the mysterious fragments) is interrupted in the midst of his laudatory exertions, and hurried away, to the no small surprise and consternation of his comrades. The Plot now hastens rapidly in its development-the management of the Tailor's examination is highly skilful, and the alarm which he is made to betray is natural without being ludicrous. The explanation, too, which he finally gives, is not more simple than satisfactory. It appears that the said fragments formed part of a self-exculpatory note, which he had intended to send to Colonel MM-N upon subjects purely professional, and the corresponding bits (which still lie luckily in his pocket) being produced, and skilfully laid beside the others, the following billet-doux is the satisfactory result of their juxta-position: Honour'd Colonel-my WIFE, who's the QUEEN of all slatterns, NEGLECTED to put up THE BOOK of new Patterns. This fully explains the whole mystery-the R-G-T resumes his wonted smiles, and the drama terminates, as usual, to the satisfaction of all parties. The Fudge Family in Paris. Le Leggi della Maschera richiedono che una persona mascherata non sia salutata per nome da uno che la conosce malgrado il suo travestimento. CASTIGLIONE. PREFACE. In what manner the following epistles came into my hands, it is not necessary for the public to know. It will be seen by Mr FUDGE's Second Letter, that he is one of those gentlemen whose Secret Services in Ireland, under the mild ministry of my Lord G---G8, have been so amply and gratefully remunerated. Like his friend and associate, THOMAS REYNOLDS, Esq., he had retired upon the reward of his honest industry; but has lately been induced to appear again in active life, and superintend the training of that Delatorian Cohort, which Lord S-DM-TH, in his wisdom and benevolence, has organized. Whether Mr FUDGE, himself, has yet made any discoveries, does not appear from the following pages;but much may be expected from a person of his zeal and sagacity, and, indeed, to him, Lord S-DM-TH, and the Greenland-bound ships, the eyes of all lovers of discoveries are now most anxiously directed. I regret that I have been obliged to omit Mr Bon FUDGE's Third Letter, concluding the adventures of his Day, with the Dinner, Opera, etc. etc.-but, in conse quence of some remarks upon Marinette's thin drapery, which, it was thought, might give offence to certain well-meaning persons, the manuscript was sent back to Paris for his revision, and had not returned when the last sheet was put to press. At the sight of that spot, where our darling It will not, I hope, be thought presumptuous, if I take Εγω δ' Ο ΜΩΡΟΣ αρας I can only add, that if any lady or gentleman, curious in such matters, will take the trouble of calling at my lodgings, 245, Piccadilly, I shall have the honour of assuring them, in propria persona, that I am-his, or her, Very obedient and very humble servant, April, 17, 18:8. THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. LETTER I. FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY——, Amiens. DEAR Doll, while the tails of our horses are plaiting, I sit down to write you a line-only think!— By the bye, though, at Calais, Papa had a touch The mode being now (as you 've heard, I suppose) This is all that's occurr'd sentimental as yet; Our party consists, in a neat Calais job, In short, dear, a Dandy» describes what I mean, As to Pa, what d'ye think?—mind it 's all entre nous, And, it's strange, no one ever remembers my Lord's; Found out by the-what's-its-name-Holy A*****ce, To commemorate the landing of ***** ** ******* from England, the impression of his foot is marked on the pier at Calais, and a pillar with an inscription raised opposite to the spot. * Ci-git la jambe de, etc. etc. And prove to mankind that their rights are bar folly, Their freedom a joke bærbart it 18, you know, Dolly z • There's none » said his Lordship, • if I may be judge, Half so fit for this great undertaking as Fungal The matter's woon settled-Pa files to the Bow The first stage your tourmis non usunuy go, » Scort's Visit,» of course—in short, every thing he has Which BOBBY would have, and is hard at it yet.- nours May think, in their fright, of suppressing poor CONNOR's? Where the poor palace changes masters marker than a stake in skin, "as round out on castors *****s borne on shouiders in: But where, in every change, no doubt, |_ One special rood your Lordship traces,— That 't is the Kings alone turn out, The Ministers still keep their places. How oft, dear Viscount C▬▬▬▬GE, For him who writes a Tour, that he There's one thou shouldst be chiefly pleased atThat Ireland gives her snuff thy name, And C-Gu's the thing now sneezed at! But hold, my pen!-a truce to praising- But time and ink run short, and now I must embark into the feature On which this letter chiefly hinges;—2 And bayonets, and the Duke commanding- Passeth all human understanding: That Fce prefers her To such a coward go-cart scamp as Though round, with each a leading-string, There standeth many a R'y'l crony, 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 Euroj e-the Regent! Verbatim from one of the noble Viscount's speeches. And now, Sir, I must embark into the feature on which this question chiefly hinges.. For fear the chubby, tottering thing Should fall, if left there loney-poney: Remember when by thee reign'd over, And Norway « on a bed of roses!» Transferr'd by contract, bless the clods! If half were strangled-Spaniards, Poles, And Frenchmen-'t would n't make such odds, So Europe's goodly royal ones Sit easy on their sacred thrones; So time is left to Emperor SANDY And G-GE the R-G-T (who 'd forget For dragons, after Chinese models, Might come and nine times knock their noddles!— All this my Quarto 'll prove-much more Than Quarto ever proved before- My Journal, penn'd by fits and starts, On BIDDY'S back or BOBBY's shoulder (My son, my Lord, a youth of parts, Who longs to be a small place-holder), Is-though I say 't that should n't sayExtremely good; and, by the way, One extract from it-only oneTo show its spirit, and I've done. « Jul. thirty-first. Went, after snack, To the cathedral of St Denny; Sigh'd o'er the kings of ages back, And-gave the old concierge a penny! (Mem.-Must see Rheims, much famed, 't is 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, The argument's quite new, you see, And proves exactly Q. E. D.— So, now, with duty to the R-g-t, I am, dear Lord, Your most obedient, P. F. Hotel Breteuil, Rue Rivoli. Neat lodgings-rather dear for me; But Fiddy said she thought 't would look Genteeler thus to date my book, And Biddy's right-besides, it curries Some favour with our friends at Murray's, Who scorn what any man can say, That dates from Rue St Honoré.' LETTER III. FROM MR BOB FUDGE TO RICHARD ——, ESQ. O DICK! you may talk of your writing and reading, After dreaming some hours of the land of Cocaigne,4 reminds us of what Pliny says, in speaking of Trajan's great qualities:- nonne longe lateque Principem ostentant ?> 1 See the Quarterly Review for May, 1816, where Mr Hobhouse is accused of having written his book in a back street of the French capital. The bill of Fare.-Véry, a well-known Restaurateur. Mr Bob alludes particularly, I presume, to the famous Jury Dégustateur, which used to assemble at the Hotel of M. Grimod de la Reynière, and of which this modern Archestratus has given an account in his Almanach des Gourmands, cinquième année, p. 78. 4 The fairy-land of cookery and gourmandise; « Pays, où le ciel of fre les viandes toutes cuites, et où, comme on parle, les alouettes tombent toutes roties. Du Latin, coquere.-DACHAT. 5 The process by which the liver of the unfortunate goose is en larged, in order to produce that richest of all dainties, the foie gras' of which such renowned pâtés are made at Strasbourg and Toulouse, |