Finding thus all those schemes and hopes
I built upon my flowers and tropes
All scatter'd, one by one, away,

As flashy and unsound as they,

The question comes - what's to be done?
And there's but one course left me-one.
Heroes, when tir'd of war's alarms,
Seek sweet repose in Beauty's arms.
The weary Day-God's last retreat is
The breast of silv'ry-footed Thetis ;
And mine, as mighty Love's my judge,
Shall be the arms of rich Miss Fudge!

Start not, my friend,—the tender scheme,
Wild and romantic though it seem,
Beyond a parson's fondest dream,

Yet shines, too, with those golden dyes,
So pleasing to a parson's eyes-
That only gilding which the Muse
Cannot around her sons diffuse;
Which, whencesoever flows its bliss,
From wealthy Miss or benefice,
To Mortimer indiff'rent is,
So he can only make it his.

There is but one slight damp I see
Upon this scheme's felicity,

And that is, the fair heroine's claim
That I shall take her family name.
To this (though it may look henpeck'd),
I can't quite decently object,

Having myself long chos'n to shine
Conspicuous in the alias* line;

So that henceforth, by wife's decree,

(For Biddy from this point wo'n't budge)

Your old friend's new address must be

The Rev. Mortimer O'Fudge

The "O" being kept, that all may see

We're both of ancient family.

Such, friend, nor need the fact amaze you,
My public life's calm Euthanasia.

* In the first edition of his Dictionary, Dr. Johnson very significantly exemplified the meaning of the word "alias" by the instance of Mallet, the poet, who had exchanged for this more refined name his original Scotch patronymic, Malloch. "What other proofs he gave (says Johnson) of disrespect to his native country, I know not; but it was remarked of him that he was the only Scot whom Scotchmen did not commend." Life of Mallet.

Thus bid I long farewell to all

The freaks of Exeter's old Hall

Freaks, in grimace, its apes exceeding,
And rivalling its bears in breeding.

Farewell, the platform fill'd with preachers-
The pray'r giv'n out, as grace*, by speechers,
Ere they cut up their fellow-creatures:

Farewell to dead old Dens's volumes,

And, scarce less dead, old Standard's columns:

From each and all I now retire,

My task, henceforth, as spouse and sire,

To bring up little filial Fudges,

To be M. P.s, and Peers, and Judges

Parsons I'd add too, if, alas !

There yet were hope the Church could pass
The gulf now oped for hers and her,
Or long survive what Exeter-

Both Hall and Bishop, of that name-
Have done to sink her reverend fame.

*

“I think I am acting in unison with the feelings of a Meeting assembled for this solemn object, when I call on the Rev. Doctor Holloway to open it by prayer."— Speech of Lord Kenyon.

Adieu, dear friend-you'll oft hear from me,
Now I'm no more a travelling drudge;
Meanwhile I sign (that you may judge
How well the surname will become me)
Yours truly,

MORTIMER O'FUDGE.

LETTER XI.

FROM PATRICK MAGAN, ESQ., TO THE REV.

RICHARD

Ireland.

DEAR DICK-just arriv'd at my own humble gîte, I inclose you, post-haste, the account, all complete, Just arriv'd, per express, of our late noble feat.

[Extract from the " County Gazette."]

This place is getting gay and full again.

*

*

*

*

*

Last week was married, "in the Lord,"

The Reverend Mortimer O'Mulligan,

Preacher, in Irish, of the Word,

(He, who the Lord's force lately led on— Exeter Hall his Armagh-geddon,)*

* The rectory which the Rev. gentleman holds is situated in the county of Armagh !- -a most remarkable coincidenceand well worthy of the attention of certain expounders of the Apocalypse.