stand, as complacently as if it actually belonged to him; without even the honesty of avowing, with his own favourite author (he will excuse the pun)

Εγω δ' Ὁ ΜΩΡΟΣ αρας
Εδησαμην μετωπω.

I can only add, that if any lady or gentleman, curious in such matters, will take the trouble of calling at my lodgings, 245, Piccadilly, I shall have the honour of assuring them, in propria persona, that I am-his, or her,

THE

FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS.

LETTER I.

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY

OF CLONSKILTY, IN IRELAND.

Amiens.

DEAR Doll, while the tails of our horses are plaiting,
The trunks tying on, and Papa, at the door,
Into very bad French is, as usual, translating
His English resolve not to give a sou more,
I sit down to write you a line-only think!—

A letter from France, with French pens and French ink,
How delightful! though, would you believe it, my dear?
I have seen nothing yet very wonderful here;

No adventure, no sentiment, far as we've come,
But the corn-fields and trees quite as dull as at home;
And, but for the post-boy, his boots and his queue,

I might just as well be at Clonskilty with you!

VOL. III.

4

In vain, at DESSEIN'S, did I take from my trunk

That divine fellow, STERNE, and fall reading "The

Monk!"

In vain did I think of his charming dead Ass,
And remember the crust and the wallet-alas!
No monks can be had now for love or for money
(All owing, Pa says, to that infidel BONEY);
And, though one little Neddy we saw in our drive
Out of classical Nampont, the beast was alive!

By the by, though, at Calais, Papa had a touch Of romance on the pier, which affected me much. At the sight of that spot, where our darling ******* Set the first of his own dear legitimate feet* · (Modell'd out so exactly, and—God bless the mark!— 'Tis a foot, Dolly, worthy so Grand a M****que),

He exclaim'd "Oh mon R**!" and, with tear-dropping

eye,

Stood to gaze on the spot-while some Jacobin, nigh,

****** from

* To commemorate the landing of ***** ** England, the impression of his foot is marked on the pier at Calais, and a pillar with an inscription raised opposite to the spot.

Mutter'd out with a shrug (what an insolent thing!) "Ma foi, he be right-'tis de Englishman's K**g; "And dat gros pied de cochon-begar, me vil say "Dat de foot look mosh better, if turn'd toder way." There's the pillar, too-Lord! I had nearly forgotWhat a charming idea!-raised close to the spot; The mode being now (as you've heard, I suppose) To build tombs over legs, * and raise pillars to toes.

This is all that's occurr'd sentimental as yet;
Except, indeed, some little flower-nymphs we've met,
Who disturb one's romance with pecuniary views,
Flinging flowers in your path, and then bawling for

sous!

And some picturesque beggars, whose multitudes seem
To recal the good days of the ancien régime,

All as ragged and brisk, you'll be happy to learn,
And as thin as they were in the time of dear STERNE.

Our party consists, in a neat Calais job,
Of Papa and myself, Mr. CONNOR and BOB.

You remember how sheepish Boв look'd at Kilrandy,
But Lord! he's quite alter'd-they've made him a Dandy;

* Ci-gît la jambe de, etc. etc.