PAGE 21
The Fudge Family In Paris
by
True, he was false–despotic–all you please–
Had trampled down man’s holiest liberties–
Had, by a genius, formed for nobler things
Than lie within the grasp of vulgar Kings,
But raised the hopes of men–as eaglets fly
With tortoises aloft into the sky–
To dash them down again more shatteringly!
All this I own–but still
* * * * *
[1] See Aellan, lib. v. cap. 29.,–who tells us that these geese, from a consciousness of their own loquacity, always cross Mount Taurus with stones in their bills, to prevent any unlucky cackle from betraying them to the eagles.
LETTER XII. FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY —-.
At last, DOLLY,–thanks to potent emetic,
Which BOBBY and Pa, grimace sympathetic,
Have swallowed this morning, to balance the bliss,
Of an eel matelote and a bisque d’ecrevisses—
I’ve a morning at home to myself, and sit down
To describe you our heavenly trip out of town.
How agog you must be for this letter, my dear!
Lady JANE, in the novel, less languisht to hear,
If that elegant cornet she met at Lord NEVILLE’S
Was actually dying with love or–blue devils.
But Love, DOLLY, Love is the theme I pursue;
With Blue Devils, thank heaven, I have nothing to do–
Except, indeed, dear Colonel CALICOT spies
Any imps of that color in certain blue eyes,
Which he stares at till I, DOLL, at his do the same;
Then he simpers–I blush–and would often exclaim,
If I knew but the French for it, “Lord, Sir, for shame!”
Well, the morning was lovely–the trees in full dress
For the happy occasion–the sunshine express—
Had we ordered it, dear, of the best poet going,
It scarce could be furnisht more golden and glowing.
Tho’ late when we started, the scent of the air
Was like GATTIE’S rose-water,–and, bright, here and there,
On the grass an odd dew-drop was glittering yet,
Like my aunt’s diamond pin on her green tabbinet!
While the birds seemed to warble as blest on the boughs,
As if each a plumed Calicot had for her spouse;
And the grapes were all blushing and kissing in rows,
And–in short, need I tell you wherever one goes
With the creature one loves, ’tis couleur de rose;
And ah! I shall ne’er, lived I ever so long, see
A day such as that at divine Montmorency!
There was but one drawback–at first when we started,
The Colonel and I were inhumanly parted;
How cruel–young hearts of such moments to rob!
He went in Pa’s buggy, and I went with BOB:
And, I own, I felt spitefully happy to know
That Papa and his comrade agreed but so-so.
For the Colonel, it seems, is a stickler of BONEY’S–
Served with him of course–nay, I’m sure they were cronies.
So martial his features! dear DOLL, you can trace
Ulm, Austerlitz, Lodi, as plain in his face
As you do on that pillar of glory and brass,[1]
Which the poor DUC DE BERRI must hate so to pass!
It appears, too, he made–as most foreigners do–
About English affairs an odd blunder or two.
For example misled by the names, I dare say–
He confounded JACK CASTLES with LORD CASTLEREAGH;
And–sure such a blunder no mortal hit ever on–
Fancied the present Lord CAMDEN the clever one!
But politics ne’er were the sweet fellow’s trade;
‘Twas for war and the ladies my Colonel was made.
And oh! had you heard, as together we walkt
Thro’ that beautiful forest, how sweetly he talkt;
And how perfectly well he appeared, DOLL, to know
All the life and adventures of JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU?–
“‘Twas there,” said he–not that his words I can state–
‘Twas a gibberish that Cupid alone could translate;–
But “there,” said he, (pointing where, small and remote,
The dear Hermitage rose), “there his JULIE he wrote,–
“Upon paper gilt-edged, without blot or erasure;
“Then sauded it over with silver and azure,
“And–oh, what will genius and fancy not do!–
“Tied the leaves up together with nonpareille blue!”
What a trait of Rousseau! what a crowd of emotions
From sand and blue ribbons are conjured up here!
Alas, that a man of such exquisite notions
Should send his poor brats to the Foundling, my dear!
“‘Twas here too perhaps,” Colonel CALICOT said–
As down the small garden he pensively led–
(Tho’ once I could see his sublime forehead wrinkle
With rage not to find there the loved periwinkle)
“‘Twas here he received from the fair D’EPINAY
“(Who called him so sweetly her Bear, every day,)
“That dear flannel petticoat, pulled off to form
“A waistcoat, to keep the enthusiast warm!”