pect to be told that my project is jacobinical, as tending to make the profane vulgar independent of those legitimate correctives-the axe and the halter; but I cannot see the matter in this light. John Bull, we are sometimes told, is like a restive horse-give him his head and he runs to the devil; but, by my proposition, the common people will never be able to make head at all, whatever be their provocations; so that I really consider myself entitled to the great prize from the members of the Holy Alliance. Other cavillers may urge that it would be injurious to the progress of knowledge and the cultivation of literature, as if the brains could not exist any where but in the head! Buffon, no ignoramus in such matters, was decidedly of opinion that the stomach was the seat of thought. Persius dubs it a Master of Arts,

"Magister Artium,

Ingenique largitor venter."

Ventriloquism is yet in its infancy, but who should limit its eloquence were it cultivated from necessity? So satisfied are we of the reflecting disposition of this portion of our economy, that we call a cow, or other beast with two stomachs, a ruminating animal, par excellence. Why might not our clergy, instead of dividing their discourses into heads-Cerberean, Polypean, and Hydraform, which always afflict me with a cephalalgy-spin the thread of their sermons, like the spider's, from the stomach instead of the head, and apportion them under the titles of the peristaltic motion, the epigastre, the hypochondre, and the colon

names as sonorous and classical as those of the Muses, with which Herodotus has baptised his respective chapters? Even constituted as we now are, with head-quarters already provided for the brains, will any one deny that an Opera-dancer's are in his heels, or that Shakspeare had not a similar conviction, when he makes one of his characters exclaim,

"Hence will I drag thee headlong, by the heels,
Unto a dunghill which shall be thy grave!"

Does he not, moreover, distinctly mark the seat of pride and aspiring talent, when he says of Wolsey,

"He was a man

Of an unbounded stomach-ever ranking
Himself with princes."

But I have said enough. If the reader be satisfied that I am suggesting a prodigious improvement, I have carried my point: if he be not, I deny that he has a rational head, and thus establish my argument. Here are the two horns of a dilemma, which, if he will continue to wear his super-humeral callosity in spite of my admonitions, may supply it a fitting decoration; and so having conducted him to the same predicament as Falstaff in Windsor Forest, I leave him to moonlight and the fairies.

Miss Mary Ball to Miss Jane Jenkins,

DEAR Jane, we reach'd Paris as day-light was closing, And its aspect, to use a French phrase, was imposing. Its magnificent portals, majestic and wide,

Through which Temple-bar without stooping might ride—
Its houses of such Brobdignagian height,

That they make Portland-place Lilliputian quite,-
Its spacious Boulevards, with their vistas of green,
Flank'd with structures of stone that ennoble the scene,-
The Rue de la Paix, with the tower at its end,

All of brass like the one where Danaë was penn'd,—
(This was made out of cannon, and Boney must pop
Himself, like the knob of a poker at top;

But it's gone, and a little white flag met my eyes
That look'd like a kite in the shadowy skies,)—
All these sights, quickly seen in succession, combined
To dazzle, delight, and astonish my mind.

We drove to Meurice's, and there should each thing go,
That, to use Papa's phrase, cannot jabber the lingo,
For our language is spoken by all that you meet ;
Nay, even the charges are English complete,
And beef and plumb-pudding you get if you choose,

With young roasted-pig, which the French hate like Jews.
Next morning with Pa to the Louvre I flew,

The statues, and marbles, and sculptures to view.
La! Jenny, they're quite indecorous: why, Madam,
They've not e'en the primitive wardrobe of Adam!
I didn't know which way to look; but in France
These matters are view'd with complete nonchalance;
And the ladies around me, like cool connoisseurs,
Were raving in raptures on limbs and contours—

"O Dieu! que c'est beau! c'est superbe, magnifique! Voilà ce que c'est que de suivre l'antique!

There's the young piping Faun-hark, he's going to warble;
Is it petrified nature, or animate marble?

Is this one of the stone-produced men of Deucalion?
That the vivified nymph of enamour'd Pygmalion ?"
Thus mounting the hobby Virtù, the fair prancers
Interrogate statues, though none of them answers ;
Then hurry to criticise ice at Tortoni's,

Or the elephant actor that plays at Franconi's.

Colour'd gowns without sleeves are the promenade dress, Which to me has a servant-like look, I confess ; Some wear an elaborate cap, but upon it

Not an atom of hat or iota of bonnet!

Then they lace down their waists, while the garment so scant is

That you see the hips working like`lean Rozinantes;
And 'tis painful to mark the unfortunate stout
Screwing every thing in that the hips may stick out.
Their legs, as our malaprop statesman once said,
"Form the capital feature in which they're ahead"
Of us and of all from the Thames to the Po,
And the reason is plain-they are always on show;
For to walk on such horrible pavements as these
They must constantly hold up their clothes to the knees.-
I shall tell you, of course, all the lions I've seen,
And the places and wonders at which I have been ;
But as things of importance flow first to my pen,
You shall hear of my bonnet in Rue Vivienne.

The bonnets in fashion are sable as ink,
But there's nothing to me so becoming as pink;
So I vow'd I would do my face justice, in spite
Of fashion and France, and not look like a fright.
The French I have learnt is what Chaucer, you know,
Says was taught to the scholars at Stratford-by-Bow,

But at Paris unknown-so I got a Precisian
To teach me the phrases and accent Parisian;
And in stating my wants I was cautious to close
With-" Il faut qu'il soit doublé en couleur de rose."
I wish you had seen their indignant surprise,

The abhorrence they threw in their shoulders and eyes,
And the solemn abjurings each minx took upon her,
As if I had offer'd offence to her honour.

"Nous en avons en noir-mais, O Ciel! O Dieu !
En rose!! Ah, vous n'aurez pas ça dans la rue.
Ce n'est pas distingué c'est très mal-honnête,
C'est passé c'est chassé"-Six weeks out of date!
Then they tried on their own, and exclaim'd " How becoming!
C'est charmant-distingué !”—I knew they were humming,
For I look'd just as sable and solemn, or worse,
Than the plume-bearing figure preceding a hearse.--
Would they put in a lining of pink, if I waited?
This point was in corners and whispers debated;
But granted, on pledge not to tell: for they said, it
Might implicate deeply their à-la-mode credit.

And the price? "Soixante francs, quand c'est garni comme

cela;

C'est toujours prix-fixe-nous ne marchandons pas."

I blush'd as I offer'd them forty; but they

Took the cash without blushing or once saying nay.
I think
you I'll allow me one merit, dear Jane,-
I'm the least of all women inclined to be vain ;
But this bonnet, I frankly confess, did enhance
The notion I had of myself—and of France.

The value I set on my beauty is small,

For the manner-the fashion's the thing after all:

Thus in bonnets it isn't the feathers and lace,

So much as the smartness, gentility, grace,

That the wearer possesses;-now these, you'll acknowledge, I

May modestly claim without any apology;

And I offer you none for this lengthen'd report

On my bonnet, (the plume would be handsome at Court,)