O Mrs. Humphris how I envy you that is not tossing on the ragging bellows of these Flatulent Times, but living under a Mild Dispotic Govininent in such Sequestrated spots as Lonnon and Padington. May you never go thro such Transubstantiation as I hav bean riting in! Things that stood for Sentries as bean removed in a Minuet--and the verry effigis of wat was venerablest is now burning in Bone Fires. The Worshipfull chaer is emty. The Mare as gon off clandestiny with a pare of Hossis, and without his diner. They say he complanes that his Corperation did not stik to him as it shold have dun But went over to the other Side. Pore Sole--in sich a case I dont wunder he lost his Stommich. Yisterday he was at the summut of Pour. Them that ours ago ware enjoying parrish officiousness as been turnd out of there Dignittis! Mr. Barber says in futer all the Perukial Authoritis will be Wigs. Pray let me no wat his Magisty and the Prim Ministir think of Stock Poggis’s constitution, and believe me conclusively my deer Mrs. Humphris most frendly and trully BRIDGET JONES. [Illustration: TUMULTUM IN PARVO.] THE FURLOUGH. AN IRISH ANECDOTE. “Time was called.”--BOXIANA. In the autumn of 1825, some private affairs called me into the sister kingdom; and as I did not travel, like Polyphemus, with my eye out, I gathered a few samples of Irish character, amongst which was the following incident. I was standing one morning at the window of “mine Inn,” when my attention was attracted by a scene that took place beneath. The Belfast coach was standing at the door, and on the roof, in front, sat a solitary outside passenger, a fine young fellow in the uniform of the Connaught Rangers. Below, by the front wheel, stood an old woman, seemingly his mother, a young man, and a younger woman, sister or sweetheart; and they were all earnestly entreating the young soldier to descend from his seat on the coach. “Come down wid ye, Thady,”--the speaker was the old woman--“come down now to your ould mother. Sure it’s flog ye they will, and strip the flesh off the bones I give ye. Come down, Thady, darlin!” “It’s honour, mother,” was the short reply of the soldier; and with clenched hands and set teeth he took a stiffer posture on the coach. “Thady, come down--come down, ye fool of the world--come along down wid ye!” The tone of the present appeal was more impatient and peremptory than the last; and the answer was more promptly and sternly pronounced: “It’s honour, brother!” and the body of the speaker rose more rigidly erect than ever on the roof. “Oh Thady, come down; sure it’s me, your own Kathleen, that bids ye. Come down, or ye’ll break the heart of me, Thady, jewel; come down then!” The poor girl wrung her hands as she said it, and cast a look upward, that had a visible effect on the muscles of the soldier’s countenance. There was more tenderness in his tone, but it conveyed the same resolution as before.