( 365 )

I

TO THE

EDITOR OF THE MORNING CHRONICLE.

SIR,

[Dec. 28.]

HAVE waited impatiently ever since the invitation you held out, to see what bard (they are all bards or minstrels now, I hear) the present age could produce, competent to celebrate in an elegy the virtues of the departed Mrs. Twaddle. While I was mortal I never suffered such a lady to sink into the grave unhonoured by the Muse; and since the world is in possession of my Elegy on Mrs. Twaddle's great prototype, Mrs. Mary Blaize, I feel it incumbent upon me, dead as I am, still to do justice to the memory of the latter lady, and snatch from the degenerate minstrels of your times a subject so deserving of poetical commemoration.

Elysium, Dec. 23, 1809.

I remain yours, till resurrection,

THE SHADE OF GOLDSMITH.

P.S. I am happy to be able to say, that Mrs. Twaddle, though very much fretted and hipped for the first day or two after her descent, is now so well reconciled to her present situation, that she employs all her thoughts upon the means of remaining in it, and in preparing evidence against her trial, which will come on, before Pluto himself, towards the end of January. Good Tories all, with one accord, For Madam Twaddle cry! Who never wanted a good word, Where she herself was by.

Some female minds caprices thrall,
Cool caution still rul'd her mind,
And never known to doubt at all,
Whene'er she was determin'd.

Her hospitality ne'er balk'd

The hopes of a starv'd sinner,
And much of it abroad was talk'd,
Whene'er she gave a dinner.
For charity was she renown'd,
By many a kinsman pray'd for;
She freely gave to all around,
Whate'er the nation paid for.

Her candour none too much commend,
Her courage all men know;
She dauntless stood the church's friend,
When no one was its foe.

Religious feuds her greatest care,
In them her only hope;

She never yet was known to swear,
But when she damn'd the Pope.

By Falsehood's arts she ne'er deceiv'd
E'en unsuspicious youth;
And always was by all believ'd,
Whene'er she told the truth.

She Reformation much approv'd,
About it never falter'd,

And wish'd all things to be improv'd,
But in no tittle alter'd.

Her conscience was a tender thing,
Which oft repentance pricked,
Nor was she careless of its sting,
Except when she was wicked."

Hope's heav'nly comfort hush'd her sighe
While Death delay'd his blow.
She said, on high she wish'd to rise,
But still to stay below.

Some Oxford doctors sought relief,

More ridicul'd her moan,

She died of "universal" grief,
But felt by her alone.

CHRISTMAS

CHRISTMAS WEEK.

[From the General Evening Post, Dec. 26.]

NOTWITHSTANDING the hitherto acknowledged superiority of the French nation in the article of politeness, it is allowed that the English are not much behind them; but while this allowance is made, we are at the same time told that it belongs only to the upper and well-educated classes in society; and that the lower, the plebeians, the domestics, and the people "whom nobody knows," are made rebellious and unaccommodating.

It is difficult to characterize a whole nation. Whoever looks round him during the present season, will have some reason to doubt whether the upper or the under ranks are most civil. Certain it is, that all the outward signs and symptoms of civility and submission are now wonderfully apparent. Never surely was precept better kept than" Servants, obey your masters in all things" for eight or ten days.

During this happy and good-humoured season, even the very churches exhibit a politeness, which nothing but Christmas could inspire. No persons are allowed to fatigue themselves by standing in the aisles, while the pew-openers increase the solemnity of the service by appearing in the humblest attitudes of supplication, and the delicate extension of hand shows that next Sunday ought to be called PalmSunday.

But the full effect of the season is perhaps most visible at home-no occasion to ring the bell above once, and no disputes are heard as to whose business it is to answer it; the distance betwixt kitchen and parlour appears to be shortened, and no one supposes what is wanted before they go to inquire.

Early rising, considering how cold and dark the mornings are, is practised with wonderful alacrity and cheerfulness.

R 4

cheerfulness a cheerfulness which is imparted to the very fire, which blazes most comfortably as soon as it is wanted.

The breakfast is got ready all together. There is no waiting for our toast when our tea is ready, and no deficiency of water when our pot is exhausted. If a friend or two drop in, it is not thought too much to go for a supplemental roll, prepare some coffee, or boil

an egg.

Not a saucy word in reply to humph, nor a hum, to be heard. crumbled between the teeth, and swallowed whole.

a command, nor a No half-oaths are none ready to be

Dinner served up to a minute, and done to a tittle. -Nothing is forgot-none of that lamentable want of memory complained of at other times; and the usual plea, "I did not think of it," is discontinued.

Cobwebs of three or four months standing are carefully removed, and our grates begin to look as mirrors. Scowering, cleaning, washing, scrubbing, and dusting-all performed by anticipation-Every thing done before it is ordered, instead of a month or six weeks after.

No delay in errands-graceful bows at the door, which is opened and shut, as if it could not express any passion!

Watchmen twirl the window-pins with most anxious care, and can't bear the sight of a suspicious person; besides being perfectly awake every hour and half-hour.

In a word, such an universal politeness and civility prevails among the unprivileged orders, that it would appear they had studied the system of Chesterfield, and practised in the school of Vestris.

About a week after the holidays, indeed, it must be confessed there is ***** (hiatus valde deflendus).

MUM.

INTELLIGENCE

IN

( 369 )

INTELLIGENCE FOR THE COUNTRY:

A LETTER FROM MR. GABRIEL GUBBINS (BEING THE CLOSE OF HIS CORRESPONDENCE) IN LONDON, ΤΟ HIS COUSIN, THE MAYOR OF *****, IN THE COUNTRY †.

[From the Morning Post, Dec. 26.]

DEAR COUSIN,

OU have seen a King's ship on a jubilee day,

γου

As it danc'd o'er the waves, its proud banners display; One spark-and this vessel, so gallant, so fair,

In smoke, death, and terror, is blown in the air!
One spark, and to atoms its timbers are hurl'd---
A wreck, to dismay and astonish the world.

This ship so blown up, is that excellent youth,
Whom once you admir'd as the pillar of truth;

Who with face most undaunted each hazard would brave,
And promis'd (Heav'n bless him!) his country to save.
While to show how the land with corruption was curst-
Gave proof by-corrupting his evidence first.
But time over tricks and deceptions prevails,
And the Law is a wonderful teller of tales;
For the Judges and Juries have finish'd his pranks,
So adieu to toasts, dinners, long speeches, and thanks.
And if in the Commons again he should venture,
That House, so impos'd on, triumphant should enter-
What novel expression of praise can they hit on?
Will they call him the juggler, or-patriot of Britain;
The quack of all quacks, for removing our ills,
Who took our gold boxes, and gave us-dirt pills?
Yet still may his friends in the mobs of St. Giles
Their leader salute in appropriate styles,

And while they the Colonel's disasters discuss,
Exclaim-"y, you sees he's the gemman for us,
Case vy-he speaks plain as ve Englishmen must,
And gives it them tightly, and kicks up a dust."
Besides, his new mode of discharging a debt,
Arithmetic never discover'd as yet:

+ See pp. 133, 135, 144, 336.
RS

The