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Start not, my friend,–the tender scheme,
Wild and romantic tho’ it seem,
Beyond a parson’s fondest dream,
Yet shines, too, with those golden dyes,
So pleasing to a parson’s eyes
That only gilding which the Muse
Can not around her sons diffuse:–
Which, whencesoever flows its bliss,
From wealthy Miss or benefice,
To Mortimer indifferent is,
So he can only make it his.
There is but one slight damp I see
Upon this scheme’s felicity,
And that is, the fair heroine’s claim
That I shall take her family name.
To this (tho’ it may look henpeckt),
I can’t quite decently object,
Having myself long chosen to shine
Conspicuous in the alias[2] line;
So that henceforth, by wife’s decree,
(For Biddy from this point won’t budge)
Your old friend’s new address must be
The Rev. Mortimer O’Fudge—
The “O” being kept, that all may see
We’re both of ancient family.

Such, friend, nor need the fact amaze you,
My public life’s a calm Euthanasia.
Thus bid I long farewell to all
The freaks of Exeter’s old Hall–
Freaks, in grimace, its apes exceeding,
And rivalling its bears in breeding.
Farewell, the platform filled with preachers–
The prayer given out, as grace, by speechers,
Ere they cut up their fellow-creatures:–
Farewell to dead old Dens’s volumes,
And, scarce less dead, old Standard’s columns:–
From each and all I now retire,
My task, henceforth, as spouse and sire,
To bring up little filial Fudges,
To be M.P.s, and Peers, and Judges–
Parsons I’d add too, if alas!
There yet were hope the Church could pass
The gulf now oped for hers and her,
Or long survive what Exeter—
Both Hall and Bishop, of that name–
Have done to sink her reverend fame.
Adieu, dear friend–you’ll oft hear from me,
Now I’m no more a travelling drudge;
Meanwhile I sign (that you may judge
How well the surname will become me)
Yours truly,
MORTIMER O’FUDGE.

[1] “Among other amiable enactments against the Catholics at this period (1649), the price of five pounds was set on the head of a Romish priest–being exactly the same sum offered by the same legislators for the head of a wolf.”–Memoirs of Captain Rock, book i., chap. 10.

[2] In the first edition of his Dictionary, Dr. Johnson very significantly exemplified the meaning of the word “alias” by the instance of Mallet, the poet, who had exchanged for this more refined name his original Scotch patronymic, Malloch. “What other proofs he gave [says Johnson] of disrespect to his native country, I know not; but it was remarked of him that he was the only Scot whom Scotchmen did not commend.”–Life of Mallet.

LETTER XI. FROM PATRICK MAGAN, ESQ., TO THE REV. RICHARD —-.——, IRELAND.

Dear Dick–just arrived at my own humblegite,
I enclose you, post-haste, the account, all complete,
Just arrived, per express, of our late noble feat.

[Extract from the “County Gazette.”]

This place is getting gay and full again.

* * * * *

Last week was married, “in the Lord,”
The Reverend Mortimer O’Mulligan,
Preacher, in Irish, of the Word,
He, who the Lord’s force lately led on–
(Exeter Hall his Armagh-geddon,)[1]
To Miss B. Fudge of Pisgah Place,
One of the chosen, as “heir of grace,”
And likewise heiress of Phil. Fudge,
Esquire, defunct, of Orange Lodge.

Same evening, Miss F. Fudge, ’tis hinted–
Niece of the above, (whose “Sylvan Lyre,”
In our Gazette, last week, we printed).
Eloped with Pat. Magan, Esquire.
The fugitives were trackt some time,
After they’d left the Aunt’s abode,
By scraps of paper scrawled with rhyme,
Found strewed along the Western road;–
Some of them, ci-devant curlpapers,
Others, half burnt in lighting tapers.
This clew, however, to their flight,
After some miles was seen no more;
And, from inquiries made last night,
We find they’ve reached the Irish shore.