FullReads

The remaining expense, trouble, risk–and, alas!
My poor copyright too–into other hands pass;
And my friend, the Head Devil of the “County Gazette”
(The only Mecaenas I’ve ever had yet),
He who set up in type my first juvenile lays,
Is now see up by them for the rest of his days;
And while Gods (as my “Heathen Mythology” says)
Live on naught but ambrosia, his lot how much sweeter
To live, lucky devil, on a young lady’s metre!

As for puffing–that first of all literary boons,
And essential alike both to bards and balloons,
As, unless well supplied with inflation, ’tis found
Neither bards nor balloons budge an inch from the ground;–
In this respect, naught could more prosperous befall;
As my friend (for no less this kind imp can I call)

Knows the whole would of critics–the hypers and all.
I suspect he himself, indeed, dabbles in rhyme,
Which, for imps diabolic, is not the first time;
As I’ve heard uncle Bob say, ’twas known among Gnostics,
That the Devil on Two Sticks was a devil at Acrostics.

But hark! there’s the Magnet just dasht in from Town–
How my heart, Kitty, beats! I shall surely drop down.
That awful Court Journal, Gazette Athenaeum,
All full of my book–I shall sink when I see ’em.
And then the great point–whether Simpkins and Co.
Are actually pleased with their bargain or no!–

Five o’clock.

All’s delightful–such praises!–I really fear
That this poor little head will turn giddy, my dear,
I’ve but time now to send you two exquisite scraps–
All the rest by the Magnet, on Monday, perhaps.

FROM THE “MORNING POST.”

‘Tis known that a certain distinguisht physician
Prescribes, for dyspepsia, a course of light reading;
And Rhymes by young Ladies, the first, fresh edition
(Ere critics have injured their powers of nutrition,)
Are he thinks, for weak stomachs, the best sort of feeding.
Satires irritate–love-songs are found calorific;
But smooth, female sonnets he deems a specific,
And, if taken at bedtime, a sure soporific.
Among works of this kind, the most pleasing we know,
Is a volume just published by Simpkins and Co.,
Where all such ingredients–the flowery, the sweet,
And the gently narcotic–are mixt per receipt,
With a hand so judicious, we’ve no hesitation
To say that–‘bove all, for the young generation–
‘Tis an elegant, soothing and safe preparation.

Nota bene–for readers, whose object’s to sleep,
And who read, in their nightcaps, the publishers keep
Good fire-proof binding, which comes very cheap.

ANECDOTE–FROM THE “COURT JOURNAL.”

T’ other night, at the Countess of ***’s rout,
An amusing event was much whispered about.
It was said that Lord —, at the Council, that day,
Had, move than once, jumpt from his seat, like a rocket,
And flown to a corner, where–heedless, they say,
How the country’s resources were squandered away–
He kept reading some papers he’d brought in his pocket.
Some thought them despatches from Spain or the Turk,
Others swore they brought word we had lost the Mauritius;
But it turned out ’twas only Miss Fudge’s new work,
Which his Lordship devoured with such zeal expeditious–
Messrs. Simpkins and Co., to avoid all delay,
Having sent it in sheets, that his Lordship might say,
He had distanced the whole reading world by a day!

[1] A day-coach of that name.

LETTER VIII. FROM BOB FUDGE, ESQ., TO THE REV. MORTIMER O’MULLIGAN.

Tuesday evening,

I much regret, dear Reverend Sir,
I could not come to * * * to meet you;
But this curst gout won’t let me stir–
Even now I but by proxy greet you;
As this vile scrawl, whate’er its sense is,
Owes all to an amanuensis.
Most other scourges of disease
Reduce men to extremities—
But gout won’t leave one even these.