English

LETTER V.

FROM LARRY O'BRANIGAN, IN ENGLAND, TO HIS WIFE
JUDY, AT MULLINAFAD .

Dear J UDY , I sind you this bit of a letther,
By mail-coach conveyance — for want of a betther —
To tell you what luck in this world I have had
Since I left the sweet cabin, at Mullinafad.
Och, Judy, that night! — when the pig which we meant
To dry-nurse in the parlor, to pay off the rent,
Julianna, the craythur — that name was the death of her —

LETTER IV.

FROM PATRICK MAGAN, ESQ., TO THE REV. RICHARD —

H E comes from Erin's speechful shore
Like fervid kettle, bubbling o'er
With hot effusions — hot and weak;
Sound, Humbug, all your hollow, est drums,
He comes, of Erin's martyrdoms
To Britain's well-fed Church to speak.

Puff him, ye Journals of the Lord,
Twin prosers, Watchman and Record!
Journals reserved for realms of bliss,
Being much too good to sell in this,

LETTER III.

FROM MISS FANNY FUDGE, TO HER COUSIN , Miss K
ITTY — —

STANZAS ENCLOSED .

TO MY SHADOW; OR, WHY? — WHAT? — HOW?

D ARK comrade of my path! while earth and sky
Thus wed their charms, in bridal light arrayed,
Why in this bright hour, walkst thou ever nigh,
Blackening my footsteps with thy length of shade —
Dark comrade, W HY ?

LETTER II.

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MRS. ELIZABETH —

Just in time for the post, dear, and monstrously busy,
With godly concernments — and worldly ones, too;
Things carnal and spiritual mixt, my dear Lizzy,
In this little brain till, bewildered 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 favorite Miss Gimp for the spring has had down.

LETTER I.

FROM PATRICK MAGAN, ESQ., TO THE REV. RICHARD — , CURATE OF — , IN IRELAND .

Who d' ye think we 've got here? — quite reformed from the giddy,
Fantastic young thing that once made such a noise —
Why, the famous Miss Fudge — that delectable Biddy,
Whom you and I saw once at Paris, when boys,
In the full blaze of bonnets, and ribands, and airs —

SECOND VISIT .

" Once more, " said Jerome, " I'll run up and see
How the Church goes on, " — and off set he.
Just then the packet-boat which trades
Betwixt our planet and the shades
Had arrived below with a freight so queer,
" My eyes! " said Jerome, " what have we here? " —
For he saw, when nearer he explored,
They'd a cargo of Bishops' wigs aboard.

" They are ghosts of wigs, " said Charon, " all,
" Once worn by nobs Episcopal.
" For folks on earth, who 've got a store

FIRST VISIT .

As St. Jerome who died some ages ago,
Was sitting one day in the shades below,
" I've heard much of English bishops, " quoth he,
" And shall now take a trip to earth to see
" How far they agree in their lives and ways
" With our good old bishops of ancient days. "

He had learned — but learned without misgivings —
Their love for good living and eke good livings;
Not knowing (as ne'er having taken degrees)
That good living means claret and fricassees,

A Lottery , a Lottery,
In Cupid's court there used to be;
Two roguish eyes
The highest prize
In Cupid's scheming Lottery;
And kisses, too,
As good as new,
Which were n't very hard to win,
For he who won
The eyes of fun
Was sure to have the kisses in
A Lottery, a Lottery, etc.

This Lottery, this Lottery,

To sigh, yet feel no pain,
To weep, yet scarce know why;
To sport an hour with Beauty's chain,
Then throw it idly by;
To kneel at many a shrine,
Yet lay the heart on none;
To think all other charms divine,
But those we just have won;
This is love, careless love,
Such as kindleth hearts that rove.

To keep one sacred flame,
Thro' life unchilled, unmoved,
To love in wintry age the same

When Lelia touched the lute,
Not then alone 't was felt,
But when the sounds were mute,
In memory still they dwelt.
Sweet lute! in nightly slumbers
Still we heard thy morning numbers.

Ah, how could she who stole
Such breath from simple wire,
Be led, in pride of soul,
To string with gold her lyre?
Sweet lute! thy chords she breaketh;
Golden now the strings she waketh!

But where are all the tales