TO MR. BENTLEY, PUBLISHER. SIR,--I write to you concerning the late P.P. of this parish--his soul to glory! for, as Virgil says,--and devil a doubt of it,-- _Candidus insuetum miratur limen Olympi, Sub pedibusque videt nubes et sidera pastor._ His RELIQUES, sir, in two volumes, have been sent down here from Dublin, for the use of my boys, by order of the National _Education_ Board, with directions to cram the spalpeens all at once with such a power of knowledge that they may forget the hunger: which plan, between you and me, (though I say it that oughtn't) is all sheer _bladderum-skate_: for, as Juvenal maintains, _jejunus stomachus_, &c. &c.--an empty bag won't stand; you must first fill it with praties. Give us a poor-law, sir, and, trust me, you will hear no more about Rock and repeal; no, nor of the _rint_, against which latter humbug the man of God set his face outright during his honest and honourable lifetime; for, sir, though he differed with Mr. Moore about Irish round towers, and a few French roundelays, in _this_ they fully agreed. As I understand, sir, that you are Publisher in ordinary to his Majesty, I intend from time to time conveying through you to the ear of royalty some _desiderata curiosa Hyberniæ_ from the pen of the deceased; matters which remain _penès me, in scriniis_, to use the style of your great namesake. For the present, I merely send you a few classic scraps collected by Dr. Prout in some convent abroad; and, wishing every success to your Miscellany, am your humble servant, R. O'D. SCRAP, No. 1. _Water-grass-hill._ There flourishes, I hear, in London, a Mr. HUDSON, whose reputation as a comic lyrist, it would seem, has firmly taken root in the great metropolis. Many are the laughter-compelling productions of his merry genius; but "_Barney Brallaghan's Courtship_" may be termed his _opus magnum_. It has been my lot to pick a few dry leaves from the laurel-wreath of Mr. Moore, who could well afford the loss: I know not whether I can meddle rightly after a similar fashion with _Hudson's_ bay. Yet is there a strange coincidence of thought and expression, and even metre, between the following remnant of antiquity, and his never-sufficiently-to-be-encored song.