Sept. 6.

Heard of the fate of our Ambassador

In China, and was sorely nettled;

But think, my Lord, we should not pass it o'er

Till all this matter's fairly settled;

And here's the mode occurs to me:

As none of our Nobility

(Though for their own most gracious King
They would kiss hands, or-any thing)
Can be persuaded to go through
This farce-like trick of the Ko-tou;
And as these Mandarins won't bend,
Without some mumming exhibition,
Suppose, my Lord, you were to send
GRIMALDI to them on a mission:
As Legate, JoE could play his part,
And if, in diplomatic art,

The "volto sciolto"*'s meritorious,
Let Joe but grin, he has it, glorious!

A title for him's easily made;

And, by the bye, one Christmas time,

* The open countenance, recommended by Lord Chesterfield.

If I remember right, he play'd

Lord MORLEY in some pantomime;-*
As Earl of M-RL—Y, then, gazette him,
If t'other Earl of M-BL-y'll let him.
(And why should not the world be blest
With two such stars, for East and West?)
Then, when before the Yellow Screen

He's brought—and, sure, the very essence
Of etiquette would be that scene

Of JOE in the Celestial Presence!

He thus should say:-" Duke Ho and Soo,
"I'll play what tricks you please for you,
"If you'll, in turn, but do for me
"A few small tricks you now shall see.
"If I consult your Emperor's liking,
"At least you'll do the same for my King."
He then should give them nine such grins
As would astound even Mandarins;

* Mr. Fudge is a little mistaken here. It was not Grimaldi, but some very inferior performer, who played this part of "Lord Morley" in the pantomime,-so much to the horror of the distinguished Earl of that name. The expostulatory letters of the Noble Earl to Mr. H-rr-s, upon this vulgar profanation of his spic-and-span-new title, will, I trust, some time or other, be given to the world.

And throw such somersets before

The picture of King GEORGE (God bless him!) As, should Duke Ho but try them o'er,

Would, by CONFUCIUS, much distress him!

I start this merely as a hint,

But thin you'll find some wisdom in't;
And, should you follow up the job,
My son, my Lord (you know poor BOB),
Would in the suit be glad to go
And help his Excellency, JOE;-
At least, like noble AMH-RST's son,
The lad will do to practise on.*

LETTER X.

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY

WELL, it isn't the King, after all, my dear creature! But don't you go laugh, now-there's nothing to quiz in't

See Mr. Ellis's account of the Embassy.

For grandeur of air and for grimness of feature,

He might be a King, DOLL! though, hang him, he

isn't.

At first, I felt hurt, for I wish'd it, I own,

If for no other cause but to vex Miss MALONE,— (The great heiress, you know, of Shandangan, who's here,

Showing off with such airs and a real Cashmere,* While mine's but a paltry old rabbit-skin, dear!) But says Pa, after deeply considering the thing, “I am just as well pleased it should not be the King; "As I think for my BIDDY, so gentille and jolie,

"Whose charms may their price in an honest way fetch,

"That a Brandenburg”—(what is a Brandenburg, DOLLY?)

"Would be, after all, no such very great catch. "If the R-G-T, indeed—” added he, looking sly(You remember that comical squint of his eye)

* See Lady Morgan's "France" for the anecdote, told her by Madame de Genlis, of the young gentleman whose love was cured by finding that his mistress wore a shawl “peau de lapin."

But I stopp'd him with "La, Pa, how can you say so, “When the R-G-T loves none but old women, you

know!"

Which is fact, my dear DOLLY-we, girls of eighteen,
And so slim-Lord, he'd think us not fit to be seen;
And would like us much better as old-ay, as old
As that Countess of DESMOND, of whom I've been told
That she lived to much more than a hundred and ten,
And was kill'd by a fall from a cherry-tree then!
What a frisky old girl! but-to come to my lover,

Who, though not a King, is a hero I'll swear,-
You shall hear all that's happen'd, just briefly run over,
Since that happy night, when we whisk'd through
the air!

Let me see-'twas on Saturday-yes, DOLLY, yesFrom that evening I date the first dawn of my bliss ; When we both rattled off in that dear little carriage, Whose journey, Boв says, is so like Love and Marriage,

Beginning gay, desperate, dashing, down-hilly;

"And ending as dull as a six-inside Dilly!"*

Well, scarcely a wink did I sleep the night through, And, next day, having scribbled my letter to you,

*The cars, on the return, are dragged up slowly by a chain.