Of present times and ages back,
Dear Doctor Fudge is worth them all.
So much for physic-then, in law too, Counsellor TIM! to thee we bow; Not one of us gives more eclat to
The immortal name of FUDGE than thou. Not to expatiate on the art
With which you play'd the patriot's part,
Till something good and snug should offer;— Like one, who, by the way he acts The enlightening part of candle-snuffer, The manager's keen eye attracts,
And is promoted thence by him
To strut in robes, like thee, my TIM! Who shall describe thy powers of face, Thy well-fee'd zeal in every case,
Or wrong or right-but ten times warmer (As suits thy calling) in the former- Thy glorious, lawyer-like delight In puzzling all that 's clear and right, Which, though conspicuous in thy youth, Improves so with a wig and band on, That all thy pride 's to way-lay Truth, And leave her not a leg to stand on.-
Thy patent, prime, morality,
Thy cases, cited from the Bible- Thy candour, when it falls to thee To help in trouncing for a libel :- God knows, I, from my soul, profess To hate all bigots and benighters! God knows, I love, to even excess, The sacred Freedom of the Press,
My only aim 's to-crush the writers.. These are the virtues, TIM, that draw The briefs into thy bag so fast; And these, oh, TIM-if Law be Law- Will raise thee to the Bench at last.
I blush to see this letter's length,
But 't was my wish to prove to thee How full of hope, and wealth, and strength, Are all our precious family. And, should affairs go on as pleasant As, thank the fates, they do at presentShould we but still enjoy the sway Of S-DM-H and of C--—GH, I hope, ere long, to see the day
When England's wisest statesmen, judges, Lawyers, peers, will all be-FUDGES!
Good bye-my paper 's out so nearly, I've only room for
FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO —— BEFORE We sketch the Present, let us cast A few short rapid glances to the Past.
When he, who had defied all Europe's strength, Beneath his own weak rashness sunk at length; When loosed, as if by magic, from a chain That seem'd like Fate's, the world was free again,
And Europe saw, rejoicing in the sight, The cause of Kings, for once, the cause of Right; Then was, indeed, an hour of joy to those Who sigh'd for justice-liberty-repose, And hoped the fall of one great vulture's nest Would ring its warning round, and scare the rest. And all was bright with promise;-Kings began To own a sympathy with suffering Man, And man was grateful-Patriots of the South Caught wisdom from a Cossack Emperor's mouth, And heard, like accents thaw'd in Northern air, Unwonted words of freedom burst forth there!
Who did not hope in that triumphant time, When monarchs, after years of spoil and crime, Met round the shrine of Peace, and Heav'n look'd on, Who did not hope the lust of spoil was gone ;- That that rapacious spirit, which had play'd The game of Pilnitz o'er so oft, was laid, And Europe's Rulers, conscious of the past, Would blush, and deviate into right at last? But no-the hearts that nursed a hope so fair Had yet to learn what men on thrones can dare; Had yet to know, of all earth's ravening things, The only quite untameable are K**gs! Scarce had they met when, to its nature true, The instinct of their race broke out anew; Promises, treaties, charters, all were vain, And « Rapine!-rapine !» was the cry again. How quick they carved their victims, and how well, Let Saxony, let injured Genoa tell,—
Let all the human stock that, day by day, Was at the royal slave-mart truck'd away,— The million souls that, in the face of Heaven, Were split to fractions,' barter'd, sold, or given To swell some despot power, too huge before, And weigh down Europe with one Mammoth more! How safe the faith of Kgs let F***ce decide;- Her charter broken, ere its ink had dried- Her Press enthrall'd-her Reason mock'd again With all the monkery it had spurn'd in vain- Her crown disgraced by one, who dared to own He thank'd not F***ce but E*****d for his throne-- Her triumphs cast into the shade by those Who had grown old among her bitterest foes. And now return'd, beneath her conquerors' shields, Unblushing slaves! to claim her heroes' fields, To tread down every trophy of her fame, And curse that glory which to them was shame!-- Let these let all the damning deeds, that then Were dared through Europe, cry aloud to men, With voice like that of crashing ice that rings Round Alpine huts, the perfidy of K**gs;
And tell the world, when hawks shall harmless bear The shrinking dove, when wolves shall learn to spare The helpless victim for whose blood they lusted, Then, and then only, monarchs may be trusted!
It could not last-these horrors could not last- F***ce would herself have risen, in might, to cast
Whilst the Congress was re-constructing Europe-not according to rights, natural affiances, language, habits, or laws, but Ly tables of finance, which divided and subdivided her population into souls, demi-souls, and even fractions, according to a scale of the direct du ties or taxes which could be levied by the acquiring state, etc.Sketch of the Military and Political Power of Rssia.-The words on the protocol are ámes, demi-úmes, etc.
s drasta were done that made space teen - was in her staarten.
10 11 the tuge a weld, Duna Tramount orT Keira entenia vondt be hos vore more - But from a cage that eagle burst to night, Vem darya va towerque winy 4 its Sucht, ***. od grades to that throne What a roval erasen just had flown. Atul aratong thuren, on so its aerie fort d Twee wing mina very sunding shook the world
*********us fury then we crown'd array. Visume front sur quilt to gondering houday Was the broke up in all its greedy mirth, fry one bold elneftain's stamp on G'll'e earth' Verem was the ery and fulminant the ban,— - Asarimate, who will-enchain, who can, The vile, the faithless, outlaw'd, low-born man '» «Vaithless'—and the from you-from you, forsooth. Yo piena K**gga, pure paragons of truth, Whone honesty all knew, for all had tried; Whose true wins zeal had served on every side; Whose fame for breaking faith so long was known, Well might ye claim the craft as all your own, And lash your lordly tuis, and fume to see Such low-born apes of royal perfidy!
| You -you--to you alone did it belong To sin for ever, and yet ne'er do wrong— The frauds, the lies of lords legitimate Are but fine policy, deep strokes of state; But let some upstart dare to soar so high In K**gly craft, and outlaw is the ery!
What, though long years of mutual treachery
Had peopled full your diplomatic shelves
With ghosts of treaties, murder'd 'mong yourselves; Though each by turns was knave and dupe-what then? A Holy League would set all straight again; Like Juno's virtue, which a dip or two
In some bless'd fountain made as good as new! a Most faithful Russia-faithful to whoe'er Could plunder best, and give him amplest share;
7: sora do wenight, boid-faced tyranny, To boost muut that dares do all but lie, From the fine jurging craft of men like these, Ther master mess and varnish & vi tanies;- These Book Learwers, who then joudest boast
of filth and traner, when they ve stain'd them most. From whose affection men should shrink as loth As from their hate, for they 11 be Beee'd by both; Who, even while pizadenap, forge Religion's name To frank their spoc, and, without fear or shame, Ca“, down the Hy Trinity to bless Partition leagues, and deeds of devilishness! But hold-poch-soon would this swell of rage Oerflow the boundaries of my scanty page,— So here I pause-farewell-another day Peturn we to those Lords of prayer and prey, Whose loathsome cant, whose frauds by right divine Deserve a lash-oh! weightier far than mine!
FROM MR BOB FUDGE, TO RICHARD ———, ESQ.
DEAR DICK, while old DONALDSON 's4 mending my stays,- Which I knew would go smash with me one of these days, And, at yesterday's dinner, when, full to the throttle, We lads had begun our dessert with a bottle Of neat old Constantia, on my leaning back Just to order another, by Jove I went crack! Or, as honest Tom said, in his nautical phrase, D―n my eyes, BoB, in doubling the Cape you've miss ‹ ¦ stays. 5
At the Peace of Tilsit, where he abandoned his ally, Prussia, to! France, and received a portion of her territory.
* The seizure of Finland from bis relative of Sweden.
3 The usual preamble to these flagitious empacis, In the same spirit, Cathrine, after the dreadful massa re of Warsaw, ordered a solemn - thanksgiving to God, in all the church ́s, for the Flessings conferred upon the Poles ;- and confmanded that ea, h of them should swear fidelity and loyalty to her, and to shed in her defence the last drop of their blood, as they should answer for it to God, and b's L'aigle volera de clocher en clocher, jusqu'aux tours de Notre- terrible ju igment, kissing the holy word and cross of their Saviour!»
Dame, ---N"'ol"'u's Proclamation on landing from Elha.
• Ningulas apais in quodam Attics fonte lota virginitatem recupe Fass fingitur,
An English tailor at Paris.
A ship is said to miss stays, when she does not obey the helm in tacking.
So, of course, as no gentleman's seen out without them, They're now at the Schneider's1-and, while he's about them,
Here goes for a letter, post-haste, neck and crop- Let us see-in my last I was-where did I stop? Oh, I know at the Boulevards, as motley a road as Man ever would wish a day's lounging upon; With its cafés and gardens, hotels and pagodas,
Its founts, and old Counts sipping beer in the sun : With its houses of all architectures you please, From the Grecian and Gothic, DICK, down by degrees To the pure Hottentot, or the Brighton Chinese; Where in temples antique you may breakfast or dinner it, Lunch at a mosque, and see Punch from a minaret. Then, DICK, the mixture of bonnets and bowers, Of foliage and frippery, fiacres and flowers, Green-grocers, green gardens-one hardly knows whether 'T is country or town, they 're so mess'd up together! And there, if one loves the romantic, one sees Jew clothes-men, like shepherds, reclined under trees; Or Quidnunes, on Sunday, just fresh from the barber's, Enjoying their news and groseille in those arbours, While gaily their wigs, like the tendrils, are curling, And founts of red currant-juice3 round them are purling.
Here, Dick, arm in arm, as we chattering stray, And receive a few civil God-dems by the way,- For 't is odd, these mounseers,-though we've wasted our wealth
And our strength, till we 've thrown ourselves into a phthisic,
To cram down their throats an old K * F for their health, As we whip little children to make them take physic;— Yet, spite of our good-natured money and slaughter, They hate us, as Beelzebub hates holy water!
But who the deuce cares, Dick, as long as they nourish us Neatly as now, and good cookery flourishes- Long as, by bayonets protected, we Natties May have our full fling at their salmis and patés? And, truly, I always declared 't would be pity To burn to the ground such a choice-feeding city: Had Dad but his way, he'd have long ago blown The whole batch to Old Nick-and the people, I own, If for no other cause than their curst monkey looks, Well deserve a blow-up-but then, damn it, their cooks! As to Marshals, and Statesmen, and all their whole lineage, For aught that I care, you may knock them to spinage; But think, DICK, their cooks-what a loss to mankind! What a void in the world would their art leave behind! Their chronometer spits-their intense salamanders- Their ovens their pots, that can soften old ganders, All vanish'd for ever-their miracles o'er,
And the Marmite Perpétuelle4 bubbling no more!
Forbid it, forbid it, ye Holy Allies,
Take whatever ye fancy-take statues, take moneyThe dandy term for a tailor.
Lemonade and eau-de-groseille are measured out at every corner of every street, from fantastic vessels, jingling with bells, to thirsty tradesmen or wearied messengers.-See Lady Morgan's lively description of the streets of Paris, in her very amusing work upon France, book 6.
These gay, portable fountains, from which the groseille-water is administered, are among the most characteristic ornaments of the
4. Cette merveilleuse Marmite Perpétuelle, sur le feu depuis près d'un siècle; qui a donné le jour à plus de 300,000 chapons.-Alman. des Gourmands, Quatrième Année, p. 152.
But leave them, oh leave them their Périgueux pies, Their glorious goose-livers, and high-pickled tunny? Though many, I own, are the evils they've brought us, Though Rally's here on her very last legs, Yet, who can help loving the land that has taught us Six hundred and eighty-five ways to dress eggs??
You sec, DICK, in spite of their cries of God-dem, Coquin Anglais, et cætera-how generous I am! And now (to return, once again, to my « Day," Which will take us all night to get through in this way) From the Boulevards we saunter through many a street, Crack jokes on the natives-mine, all very neat- Leave the Signs of the Times to political fops, And find twice as much fun in the Signs of the Shops ;-- Here, a L***s D'x-h't—there, a Martinmas goose (Much in vogue since your eagles are gone out of use) — Henri Quatres in shoals, and of Gods a great many, But Saints are the most on hard duty of any:- St Tony, who used all temptations to spurn, Here hangs o'er a beer-shop, and tempts in his turn; While there St Venecia3 sits hemming and frilling her Holy mouchoir o'er the door of some milliner;- St Austin's the outward and visible sign
Of an inward cheap dinner and pint of small wine;
While St Denis hangs out o'er some hatter of ton, And possessing, good bishop, no head of his own,4 Takes an interest in Dandies, who've got-next to none. Then we stare into shops-read the evening's affiches— Or, if some, who're Lotharios in feeling, should wish Just to flirt with a luncheon (a devilish bad trick, As it takes off the bloom of one's appetite, Dick), To the Passage des-what dy'e call 't-des Panoramas,5 We quicken our pace, and there heartily cram as Seducing young pâtés, as ever could cozen One out of one's appetite, down by the dozen. We vary, of course-petits pâtés do one day,
The next we've our lunch with the Gauffrier Hollandais," That popular artist, who brings out, like Sc-TT, His delightful productions so quick, hot and hot; Not the worse for the exquisite comment that follows, Divine maresquino, which-Lord, how one swallows!
Once more, then, we saunter forth after our snack, or Subscribe a few francs for the price of a fiacre, Where we find a few twirls in the car of much use And drive far away to the old Montagnes Russes, To regenerate the hunger and thirst of us sinners, Who've lapsed into snacks-the perdition of dinners. And here, Dick-in answer to one of your queries, About which we Gourmands, have had much discus- sion-
I've tried all these mountains, Swiss, French, and Ruggieri's,
Le thon mariné, one of the most favourite and indigestible horsd'œuvres. This fish is taken chiefly in the Golfe de Lyon. La tête et le dessous du ventre sont les parties les plus recherchées des gourmets. Cours Gastronomique, p. 252. The exact number mentioned by M. de la Reynière On connoit en France 635 manières différentes d'accommoder les œufssans compter celles que nos savans imaginent chaque jour.»
Veronica, the Saint of the Holy Handkerchief, is also, under the name of Venisse or Venecia, the tutelary saint of milliners.
4 St Denis walked three miles after his head was cut off. The mot
of a woman of wit upon this legend is well known: «Je le crois bien; en pareil cas, il n'y a que le premier pas qui coûte.. 5 Off the Boulevards Italiens.
In the Palais Royal; successor, I believe, to the Flamand, so long celebrated for the moelleux of his Gauffres.
And think, for digestion,' there's none like the Rus-Sweet metaphor!—and then the epistle
So equal the motion-so gentle, though fleet
It, in short, such a light and salubrious scamper is, That take whom you please-take old L**** D****** And stuff him-ay, up to the neck-with stew'd lampreys,
So wholesome these Mounts, such a solvent I've found them,
That, let me but rattle the Monarch well down them, The fiend, Indigestion, would fly far away, And the regicide lampreys be foil'd of their prey!
Which bid the Saxon King go whistle, That tender letter to Mon Prince, Which show'd alike thy French and sense ;- Oh, no, my Lord, there's none can do Or say un-English things like you; And, if the schemes that fill thy breast Could but a vent congenial seek, And use the tongue t'it suits them best, What charming Turkish wouldst thou speak! But as for me, a Frenchless grub,
At Congress never born to stammer,
Nor learn, like thee, my Lord, to snub
Such, Dick, are the classical sports that content us, Till five o'clock brings on that hour so momentous, That epoch--but woa! my lad-here comes the How far a little French will go;
Fallen monarchs, out of Chambaud's grammar- Bless you, you do not, cannot know
Docteur Cotterel recommends, for this purpose, the Beaujon, or French Mountains, and calls them une médecine aérienne, couleur de ose but I own I prefer the authority of M Bob, who seems, from the following note found in his own hand-writing, to have studied all these mountains very carefully:
Memoranda,-The Swiss little notice deserves, While the fall at Ruggieri's is death to weak nerves; And (whate'er Doctor Cotterel may write on the question) The turn at the Beaujon's too sharp for digestion.
I doubt whether Mr Bob is quite correct in accenting the second syl. lable of Ruggieri.
A dish so indigestible, that a late novelist, at the end of his book, could ima ține no more summary mode of getting rid of all his heroes and heroines than by a hearty supper of stewed lampreys.
3 They killed Henry I of England- a food (says Hume, gravely) which always agreed better with his palate than his constitution.. 4 A famous Restaurateur-now Dupont.
For all one's stock, one need but draw
On some half dozen words like these— Comme
ça-par-là-là-bas—ah! ah! They'll take you all through France with ease. Your Lordship's praises of the scraps
I sent you from my journal lately,
(Enveloping a few laced caps
For Lady C.) delight me greatly.
Her flattering speech- what pretty things One finds in Mr FUDGE's pages!
Is praise which (as some poet sings) Would pay one for the toils of ages.
While to his case a tear I dropp'd,
And saunter'd home, thought I-ye gods! How many heads might thus be swopp'd, And, after all, not make much odds!
The celebrated letter to Prince Hardenburgh (written, however, I believe, originally in English), in which his Lordship, professing to see no moral or political objection to the dismemberment of Saxony, denounced the unfortunate King, as not only the most devoted, but the most favoured of Huona; arte's vassals."
This extraordinary madman is, I believe, in the Bicêtre. He imagines, exactly as Mr Fudge states it, that when the heads of those
An old French saying:- Faire le saut d'Allemand, du lit à la who had been guillotined were restored, he by mistake got some table, et de la table au lit..
other person's instead of his own.
For instance, there's V-S-TT-T's head (Tam carum1 it may well be said) If by some curious chance it came
To settle on BILL SOAMES's shoulders, The effect would turn out much the same On all respectable cash-holders: Except that while in its new socket,
The head was planning schemes to win A zigzag way into one's pocket,
The hands would plunge directly in.
Good Viscount S-DM-H, too, instead Of his own grave respected head, Might wear (for aught I see that bars)
Old Lady WILHELMINA FRUMP'S- So, while the hand sign'd Circulars,
The head might lisp out What is trumps?"- The R-G-T's brains could we transfer To some robust man-milliner,
The shop, the shears, the lace, and ribbon, Would I doubt not, quite as glib on; go, And, vice versa, take the pains
To give the P-CE the shopman's brains, One only change from thence would flow- Ribbons would not be wasted so!
'T was thus I ponder'd on, my Lord; And, even at night, when laid in bed, I found myself, before I snored,
Thus chopping, swopping head for head. At length I thought, fantastic elf! How such a change would suit myself. "Twixt sleep and waking, one by one, With various pericraniums saddled, At last I tried your Lordship's on,
And then I grew completely addledForgot all other heads, od rot 'em! And slept, and dreamt that I was-BOTTOM.
The only change, if I recollect right, is the substitution of lilies for bees. This war upon the bees is, of course, universal; « exitium misere apibus, like the angry nymphs in Virgil:-but may not new swarms arise out of the victims of Legitimacy yet?
I am afraid that Mr Fudge alludes here to a very awkward accident which is well known to have happened to poor L-s le D-s-é, some years since, at one of the R-g-t's Fétes. He was sitting next our gracious Queen at the time.
With bales of muslins, chintzes, spices,
I see the Easterns weigh their kings;
But, for the R-G-T, my advice is,
We should throw in much heavier things:
For instance▬▬'s quarto volumes,
Which, though not spices, serve to wrap them; Dominie ST--DD-T's daily columns,
Prodigious!-in, of course, we'd clap them- Letters, that C-RTW--T's pen indites, In which, with logical confusion, The Major like a Minor writes,
And never comes to a conclusion:- Lord S-M-RS' pamphlet-or his head— (Ah, that were worth its weight in lead!) Along with which we in may whip, sly, The Speeches of SIR JOHN C-x H—pp—SLY; That Baronet of many words,
Who loves so, in the House of Lords, To whisper Bishops-and so nigh Unto their wigs in whispering goes, That
you may always know him by A patch of powder on his nose!- If this won't do, we in must cram The Reasons of Lord B-CK-GH-M; (A book his Lordship means to write, Entitled Reasons for my Ratting :-) Or, should these prove too small and light, His --'s a host-we 'll bundle that in! And, still should all these masses fail To stir the R-G-T's ponderous scale, Why then, my Lord, in Heaven's name, Pitch in, without reserve or stint, The whole of R-GL-Y's beauteous Dame- If that won't raise him, devil's in 't!
The third day of the Feast the King causeth himself to be weighed with great care.-F. BERNIER'S Voyage to Surat, etc. * I remember, says Bernier, that all the Omrahs expressed great joy that the King weighed two pounds more now than the year preceding. Another author tells us that Fatness, as well as a very large head, is considered, throughout India, as one of th most precious gifts of Heaven. An enormous skull is absolutely revered, and the happy owner is looked up to as a superior being. To a Prince a joulter head is invaluable.-Oriental Field Sports.
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