And the dish set before him-oh dish well-devised !

Was, what old Mother GLASSE calls," a calf's head sur

prised!"

The brains were near

; and once they'd been fine,

But of late they had lain so long soaking in wine
That, however we still might in courtesy call

Them a fine dish of brains, they were no brains at all.

When the dinner was over, we drank, every one
In a bumper," the venial delights of Crim. Con."
At which H-D-T with warm reminiscences gloated,
And E-BR-H chuckled to hear himself quoted.

Our next round of toasts was a fancy quite new,
For we drank-and you'll own 'twas benevolent too-
To those well-meaning husbands, cits, parsons, or peers,
Whom we've any time honour'd by kissing their dears:
This museum of wittols was comical rather;
Old H-D-T gave My, and I gave

In short, not a soul till this morning would budge-
We were all fun and frolic!-and even the J-E
Laid aside, for the time, his juridical fashion,

And through the whole night was not once in a passion!

I write this in bed, while my whiskers are airing, And M-c has a sly dose of jalup preparing

For poor T-MMY T-RR-T at breakfast to quaff-
As I feel I want something to give me a laugh,
And there's nothing so good as old T-MмY, kept close
To his Cornwall accounts, after taking a dose!

LETTER IV.

FROM THE RIGHT HON. P-TR-CK D-G-N-N

TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR J-HN N-CH-L.

Dublin.*

LAST week, dear N-CH-L, making merry

At dinner with our Secretary,

When all were drunk, or pretty near
(The time for doing business here),
Says he to me, "Sweet Bully Bottom!
"These Papist dogs-hiccup-od rot 'em!

* This letter, which contained some very heavy inclosures, seems to have been sent to London by a private hand, and then put into the Twopenny Post-Office, to save trouble. See the Appendix.

"Deserve to be bespatter'd-hiccup

"With all the dirt even you can pick up—
"But, as the P- E- (here's to him—fill—
“Hip, hip, hurra!)—is trying still

"To humbug them with kind professions,
"And as you deal in strong expressions-
"Rogue'traitor'-hiccup-and all that-
"You must be muzzled, DOCTOR Pat!—
“You must indeed—hiccup-that's flat.”

Yes-" muzzled" was the word, Sir John—
These fools have clapp'd a muzzle on
The boldest mouth that e'er ran o'er
With slaver of the times of yore !-

Was it for this that back I went
As far as Lateran and Trent,

Το prove that they, who damn'd us then,
Ought now, in turn, be damn'd again !—
The silent victim still to sit

Of GR-TT-N's fire and C-NN-G's wit,

* In sending this sheet to the Press, however, I learn that the "muzzle" has been taken off, and the Right Hon. Doctor let loose again!

To hear even noisy M-TH-W gabble on,
Nor mention once the W-e of Babylon!

Oh! 'tis too much-who now will be
The Nightman of No-Popery?
What Courtier, Saint, or even Bishop,
Such learned filth will ever fish up?
If there among our ranks be one
To take my place, 'tis thou, SIR John-
Thou-who, like me, art dubb'd Right Hon.
Like me, too, art a Lawyer Civil
That wishes Papists at the devil!

To whom then but to thee, my friend,
Should PATRICK his Port-folio send?

Take it 'tis thine-his learn'd Port-folio,
With all its theologic olio

Of Bulls, half Irish and half Roman,

Of Doctrines now believed by no man

* This is a bad name for poetry; but D-gen-n is worse.— As Prudentius says, upon a very different subject

torquetur Apollo Nomine percussus.

Of Councils, held for men's salvation,
Yet always ending in damnation-

(Which shows that, since the world's creation,
Your Priests, whate'er their gentle shamming,
Have always had a taste for damning);
And many more such pious scraps,

To prove (what we've long proved perhaps)
That, mad as Christians used to be
About the Thirteenth Century,

There's lots of Christians to be had

In this, the Nineteenth, just as mad!

Farewell-I send with this, dear N-CH-L! A rod or two I've had in pickle.

Wherewith to trim old GR-TT-N's jacket.The rest shall go by Monday's packet.

P. D.