Not a single new grace to that form could they teach, Which combines in itself the perfection of each; While, rapid or slow, as her fairy feet fall, The mute music of symmetry modulates all. Ne'er, in short, was there creature more form'd to bewilder A gay youth like me, who of castles aërial (And only of such) am, God help me! a builder; Still peopling each mansion with lodgers ethereal, And now, to this nymph of the seraph-like eye, Letting out, as you see, my first floor next the sky.* But, alas! nothing's perfect on earth—even she, This divine little gipsy, does odd things sometimes; Talks learning-looks wise (rather painful to see), Prints already in two County papers her rhymes; And raves -the sweet, charming, absurd little dear! About Amulets, Bijous, and Keepsakes, next year, *That floor which a facetious garreteer called "le premier en descendant du ciel." In a manner which plainly bad symptoms portends Of that Annual blue fit, so distressing to friends; A fit which, though lasting but one short edition, Leaves the patient long after in sad inanition. However, let's hope for the best-and, meanwhile, Be it mine still to bask in the niece's warm smile; While you, if you're wise, Dick, will play the gallant (Uphill work, I confess,) to her Saint of an Aunt. Think, my boy, for a youngster like you, who've a lack, Not indeed of rupees, but of all other specie, What luck thus to find a kind witch at your back, An old goose with gold eggs, from all debts to release ye! Never mind, tho' the spinster be reverend and thin, What are all the Three Graces to her Three per Cents.? While her acres !-oh Dick, it don't matter one pin How she touches the' affections, so you touch the rents; And Love never looks half so pleas'd as when, bless him, he Sings to an old lady's purse "Open, Sesame." By the way, I've just heard, in my walks, a report, Which, if true, will insure for your visit some sport. 'Tis rumour'd our Manager means to bespeak The Church tumblers from Exeter Hall for next week; And certainly ne'er did a queerer or rummer set Throw, for th' amusement of Christians, a summerset. 'Tis fear'd their chief "Merriman," C-ke, cannot come, Being called off, at present, to play Punch at home *; Having pleas'd Robert Taylor, the Reverend, greatly.† 'Twill prove a sad drawback, if absent he be, As a wag Presbyterian's a thing quite to see; * See the Dublin Evening Post, of the 9th of this month (July), for an account of a scene which lately took place at a meeting of the Synod of Ulster, in which the performance of the above-mentioned part by the personage in question appears to have been worthy of all his former reputation in that line. t "All are punsters if they have wit to be so; and therefore when an Irishman has to commence with a Bull, you will naturally pronounce it a bull. (A laugh.) Allow me to bring before you the famous Bull that is called Unigenitus, referring to the only-begotten Son of God."- Report of the Rev. Doctor's Speech June 20. in the Record Newspaper. And, 'mong the Five Points of the Calvinists, none of 'em Ever yet reckon'd a point of wit one of 'em. lime*; And of him we're quite certain, so, pray, come in time. *In the language of the play-bills, "Ground and Lofty Tumbling." LETTER II. FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE, TO MRS. JUST in time for the post, dear, and monstrously busy, and worldly ones, too; With godly concernments Things carnal and spiritual mix'd, my dear Lizzy, In this little brain till, bewilder'd and dizzy, 'Twixt heaven and earth, I scarce know what I do. First, I've been to see all the gay fashions from Town, Which our favourite Miss Gimp for the spring has had down. Sleeves still worn (which I think is wise), à la folle, Charming hats, pou de soie—though the shape rather droll. But you can't think how nicely the caps of tulle lace, With the mentonnières, look on this poor sinful face; And I mean, if the Lord in his mercy thinks right, To wear one at Mrs. Fitz-wigram's to-night. |