LETTER VII.

FROM MISS FANNY FUDGE, TO HER COUSIN,

MISS KITTY

IRREGULAR ODE.

BRING me the slumbering souls of flowers,
While yet, beneath some northern sky,
Ungilt by beams, ungemm'd by showers,
They wait the breath of summer hours,
To wake to light each diamond eye,
And let loose every florid sigh!

Bring me the first-born ocean waves,

From out those deep primeval caves,

Where from the dawn of Time they've lain, THE EMBRYOS OF A FUTURE MAIN!

Untaught as yet, young things, to speak

The language of their PARENT SEA,
(Polyphlysbæan* named, in Greek)
Though soon, too soon, in bay and creek,
Round startled isle and wondering peak,

They'll thunder loud and long as HE!

Bring me, from Hecla's iced abode,

Young fires

I had got, dear, thus far in my ODE,

Intending to fill the whole page to the bottom,

But, having invoked such a lot of fine things, Flowers, billows and thunderbolts, rainbows and wings,

Didn't know what to do with 'em, when I had got

The truth is, my thoughts are too full, at this minute,
Of past MSS. any new ones to try.

This very night's coach brings my destiny in it, -
Decides the great question, to live or to die!
And, whether I'm henceforth immortal or no,
All depends on the answer of Simkins and Co.!

You'll think, love, I rave, so 'tis best to let out

The whole secret, at once - I have publish'd a Book!!!

Yes, an actual Book: -if the marvel you doubt,

You have only in last Monday's Courier to look, And you'll find "This day published by Simkins and

Co.

A Romaunt, in twelve Cantos, entitled 'Woe, Woe!' By Miss Fanny F, known more commonly

This I put that my friends mayn't be left in the dark, But may guess at my writing by knowing my

mark.

F

How I managed, at last, this great deed to achieve, Is itself a "Romaunt" which you'd scarce, dear, be

lieve;

Nor can I just now, being all in a whirl,

Looking out for the Magnet,* explain it, dear girl. Suffice it to say, that one half the expense

Of this leasehold of fame for long centuries

hence,

(Though "God knows," as aunt says, my humble ambition

Aspires not beyond a small Second Edition,)-
One half the whole cost of the paper and printing,
I've managed, this last year, to scrape up, by stinting
My own little wants in gloves, ribbons and shoes,
Thus defrauding the toilet to fit out the Muse!

And who, my dear Kitty, would not do the same? What's eau de Cologne to the sweet breath of fame ?

Yards of ribbon soon end, but the measures of

rhyme,

Dipp'd in hues of the rainbow, stretch out through

all time.

Gloves languish and fade away, pair after pair, While couplets shine out, but the brighter for wear, And the dancing-shoe's gloss in an evening is gone, While light-footed lyrics through ages trip on.

The remaining expense, trouble, risk, and alas!
My poor copyright too-into other hands pass ;
And my friend, the Head Dev'l of the "County

Gazette,"

(The only Mecenas I've ever had yet),

He who set up in type my first juvenile lays,

Is now set up by them for the rest of his days ;
And while Gods (as my "Heathen Mythology" says)

Live on nought but ambrosia, his lot how much

sweeter

To live, lucky dev'l, on a young lady's metre!