But here I must finish-for BOB, my dear DOLLY, Whom physic, I find, always makes melancholy, Is seiz'd with a fancy for church-yard reflections; And, full of all yesterday's rich recollections, Is just setting off for Montmartre-" for there is," Said he, looking solemn, "the tomb of the VÉRYS!* "Long, long have I wish'd, as a votary true,

"O'er the grave of such talents to utter my moans; “And, to-day—as my stomach is not in good cue "For the flesh of the VÉRYS-I'll visit their

bones!"

He insists upon my going with him-how teasing ! This letter, however, dear DoLLY, shall lie Unseal'd in my draw'r, that, if any thing pleasing Occurs while I'm out, I may tell you-good-bye.

B. F.

Four o'clock.

Oh, DOLLY, dear DOLLY, I'm ruin'd for ever—
I ne'er shall be happy again, DOLLY, never!

* It is the brother of the present excellent Restaurateur who lies entombed so magnificently in the Cimetière Montmartre. The inscription on the column at the head of the tomb concludes with the following words: "Toute sa vie fut consacrée aux arts utiles."

To think of the wretch-what a victim was I! 'Tis too much to endure-I shall die, I shall die My brain's in a fever-my pulses beat quickI shall die, or, at least, be exceedingly sick! Oh, what do you think? after all my romancing, My visions of glory, my sighing, my glancing, This Colonel-I scarce can commit it to paperThis Colonel's no more than a vile linen-draper!! 'Tis true as I live-I had coax'd brother Boв So, (You'll hardly make out what I'm writing, I sob so,) For some little gift on my birth-day-September The thirtieth, dear, I'm eighteen, you rememberThat Boв to a shop kindly order'd the coach, (Ah, little I thought who the shopman would prove,)

To bespeak me a few of those mouchoirs de poche, Which, in happier hours, I have sigh'd for, my

love

(The most beautiful things-two Napoleons the price

And one's name in the corner embroider'd so nice!) Well, with heart full of pleasure, I enter'd the shop, But-ye Gods, what a phantom!-I thought I should drop

There he stood, my dear DOLLY-no room for a doubt

There, behind the vile counter, these eyes saw

him stand,

With a piece of French cambric, before him roll'd

out,

And that horrid yard-measure uprais'd in his hand! Oh—Papa, all along, knew the secret, 'tis clear— 'Twas a shopman he meant by a " Brandenburgh," dear!

The man, whom I fondly had fancied a King,
And, when that too delightful illusion was past,
As a hero had worshipp'd-vile, treacherous thing—
To turn out but a low linen-draper at last!
My head swam around the wretch smil'd, I

believe,

But his smiling, alas, could no longer deceiveI fell back on BOB-my whole heart seem'd to wither.

And, pale as a ghost, I was carried back hither! I only remember that Boв, as I caught him,

With cruel facetiousness said, "Curse the Kiddy! "A staunch Revolutionist always I've thought him,

"But now I find out he's a Counter one, BIDDY!"

Only think, my dear creature, if this should be

known

To that saucy, satirical thing, Miss MALONE! What a story 'twill be at Shandangan for ever! What laughs and what quizzing she'll have with the men!

It will spread through the country—and never, oh,

never

Can BIDDY be seen at Kilrandy again!

Farewell I shall do something desp'rate, I fear-
And, ah! if my fate ever reaches your ear,
One tear of compassion my DoLL will not grudge
To her poor-broken-hearted—young friend,
BIDDY FUDge.

Nota bene-I am sure you will hear, with delight, That we're going, all three, to see BRUNET to-night. A laugh will revive me -and kind Mr. Cox

(Do you know him?) has got us the Governor's box.