Nor is there, I think, a doubt that he

Would also her absence much prefer,

As oft, while listening intent to me,
He's forc'd, from politeness, to look at her.

Heigho!-what a blessing should Mr. Magan
Turn out, after all, a "renewed" young man;
And to me should fall the task, on earth,
To assist at the dear youth's second birth.
Blest thought! and, ah, more blest the tie,
Were it heaven's high will, that he and I—
But I blush to write the nuptial word,-

Should wed, as St. Paul says, "in the

Or look in the Register's vulgar page
For a regular twice-born Christian's age,
Who, blessed privilege! only then

Begins to live when he's born again.
And, counting in this way,-let me see,—
I myself but five years old shall be,

And dear Magan, when th' event takes

place,

An actual new-born child of

grace,

Should Heav'n in mercy so dispose,-
A six-foot baby, in swaddling clothes.

Wednesday.

Finding myself, by some good fate,
With Mr. Magan left tête-a-tête,

Had just begun,-having stirr'd the fire,
And drawn my chair near his,—to inquire
What his notions were of Original Sin,

When that naughty Fanny again bounc'd

in;

And all the sweet things I had got to say Of the Flesh and the Devil, were whisk'd away!

Much grieved to observe that Mr. Magan
Is actually pleased and amused with Fan!
What charms any sensible man can see
In a child so foolishly young as she,—
But just eighteen, come next May-day,

With eyes, like herself, full of nothing but

play,

Is, I own, an exceeding puzzle to me.

LETTER III.

FROM MISS FANNY FUDGE, TO HER COUSIN, MISS

KITTY

STANZAS

(INCLOSED.)

TO MY SHADOW;

OR,

WHY? WHAT?-HOW?

Dark comrade of my path! while earth and sky

Thus wed their charms, in bridal light arrayed, Why, in this bright hour, walk'st thou ever nigh, Blackening my footsteps with thy length of shade

Dark comrade, WHY?

Thou mimic Shape that, mid these flowery scenes,

Glidest beside me o'er each sunny spot,

Sadd'ning them as thou goest,—say, what means
So dark an adjunct to so bright a lot,-
Grim goblin, WHAT?

Still, as to pluck sweet flowers I bend my brow,

Thou bendest, too,-then risest when I rise ;Say, mute mysterious Thing! how is't that thou

Thus com'st between me and those blessed skies,

Dim shadow, How?

(ADDITIONAL STANZA, BY ANOTHER HAND.)

Thus said I to that Shape, far less in grudge

Than gloom of soul, while, as I eager cried,

Oh why? what? how ?-a Voice, that one might judge

To be some Irish echo's, faint replied

All fudge, fudge, fudge!