make consuls and vice-consuls, perpetually, of foreigners.  This man is a patrician, and has twelve thousand a year.  His motive is a British protection in case of new invasions.  Don’t you think Croker would do it for us?  To be sure, my interest is rare!! but, perhaps, a brother wit in the Tory line might do a good turn at the request of so harmless and long absent a Whig, particularly as there is no salary or burden of any sort to be annexed to the office.

“I can assure you, I should look upon it as a great obligation; but, alas! that very circumstance may, very probably, operate to the contrary—­indeed, it ought; but I have, at least, been an honest and an open enemy.  Amongst your many splendid government connections, could not you, think you, get our Bibulus made a Consul? or make me one, that I may make him my Vice.  You may be assured that, in case of accidents in Italy, he would be no feeble adjunct—­as you would think, if you knew his patrimony.

“What is all this about Tom Moore? but why do I ask? since the state of my own affairs would not permit me to be of use to him, though they are greatly improved since 1816, and may, with some more luck and a little prudence, become quite clear.  It seems his claimants are American merchants? There goes Nemesis! Moore abused America.  It is always thus in the long run:—­Time, the Avenger.  You have seen every trampler down, in turn, from Buonaparte to the simplest individuals.  You saw how some were avenged even upon my insignificance, and how in turn * * * paid for his atrocity.  It is an odd world; but the watch has its mainspring, after all.

     “So the Prince has been repealing Lord Edward Fitzgerald’s
     forfeiture? Ecco un’ sonetto!

“To be the father of the fatherless, To stretch the hand from the throne’s height, and raise His offspring, who expired in other days To make thy sire’s sway by a kingdom less,—­ This is to be a monarch, and repress Envy into unutterable praise.  Dismiss thy guard, and trust thee to such traits, For who would lift a hand, except to bless?  Were it not easy, sir, and is’t not sweet To make thyself beloved? and to be Omnipotent by Mercy’s means? for thus Thy sovereignty would grow but more complete, A despot thou, and yet thy people free, And by the heart, not hand, enslaving us.

“There, you dogs! there’s a sonnet for you:  you won’t have such as that in a hurry from Mr. Fitzgerald.  You may publish it with my name, an’ ye wool.  He deserves all praise, bad and good; it was a very noble piece of principality.  Would you like an epigram—­a translation?

        “If for silver, or for gold,
          You could melt ten thousand pimples
          Into half a dozen dimples,
        Then your face we might behold,
          Looking, doubtless, much more snugly,
          Yet ev’n then ’twould be d——­d ugly.