ST. JEROME ON EARTH.

SECOND VISIT.

"This much I dare say, that, since lording and loitering hath come up, preaching hath come down, contrary to the Apostles' times. For they preached and lorded not: and now they lord and preach not... Ever since the Prelates were made Lords and Nobles, the plough standeth ; there is no work done, the people starve." - Latimer, Sermon of the Plough.

"ONCE more," said Jerome, "I'll run up and see and off set he.

How the Church goes on,"

Just then the packet-boat, which trades

Betwixt our planet and the shades,

Had arrived below, with a freight so queer,

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My eyes!" said Jerome, "what have we here?”

For he saw, when nearer he explor'd,

They'd a cargo of Bishops' wigs aboard.

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They are ghosts of wigs," said Charon, “all,

"Once worn by nobs Episcopal.

*

"For folks on earth, who've got a store

"Of cast off things they'll want no more,

* The wig, which had so long formed an essential part of the dress of an English bishop, was at this time beginning to be dispensed with.

"Oft send them down, as gifts, you know, "To a certain Gentleman here below.

"A sign of the times, I plainly see," Said the Saint to himself as, pondering, he Sail'd off in the death-boat gallantly.

Arriv'd on earth, quoth he, "No more "I'll affect a body, as before;

"For I think I'd best, in the company "Of Spiritual Lords, a spirit be,

"And glide, unseen, from See to See." But oh! to tell what scenes he saw,

It was more than Rabelais' pen could draw.
For instance, he found Ex-t-r,

Soul, body, inkstand, all in a stir,—
For love of God? for sake of King?
For good of people?-no such thing;
But to get for himself, by some new trick,
A shove to a better bishoprick.

He found that pious soul, Van M—ld—t, Much with his money-bags bewilder'd;

Snubbing the Clerks of the Diocess*,
Because the rogues showed restlessness
At having too little cash to touch,
While he so Christianly bears too much.
He found old Sarum's wits as gone
As his own beloved text in John†,-
Text he hath prosed so long upon,

That 'tis thought when ask'd, at the gate of heaven,
His name, he'll answer "John, v. 7."

"But enough of Bishops I've had to-day," Said the weary Saint,- "I must away.

"Though I own I should like, before I go,

"To see for once (as I'm ask'd below
"If really such odd sights exist)
"A regular six-fold Pluralist."

Just then he heard a general cry
"There's Doctor Hodgson galloping by!"
Ay, that's the man," says the Saint,
And off he sets, with a loud view-hollo,

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"to follow,"

* See the Bishop's Letter to Clergy of his Diocese. + 1 John, v. 7. A text which, though long given up by all the rest of the orthodox world, is still pertinaciously adhered to by this Right Reverend scholar.

At Hodgson's heels, to catch, if he can,
A glimpse of this singular plural man.
But, -talk of Sir Boyle Roche's bird!*
To compare him with Hodgson is absurd.
“Which way, sir, pray, is the doctor gone?”.
"He is now at his living at Hillingdon."-
"No, no,-you're out, by many a mile,
"He's away at his Deanery, in Carlisle.”-
"Pardon me, sir; but I understand
"He's gone to his living in Cumberland.".
"God bless me, no,-he can't be there;
"You must try St. George's, Hanover Square."

Thus all in vain the Saint inquir'd,

From living to living, mock'd and tir'd;—

'Twas Hodgson here, 'twas Hodgson there,
'Twas Hodgson nowhere, everywhere;

Till, fairly beat, the Saint gave o'er,
And flitted away to the Stygian shore,
To astonish the natives under ground

With the comical things he on earth had found.

* It was a saying of the well-known Sir Boyle, that “a man could not be in two places at once, unless he was a bird."

THOUGHTS ON TAR BARRELS.

(VIDE DESCRIPTION OF A LATE FÊTE.*)

1832.

WHAT a pleasing contrivance! how aptly devis'd 'Twixt tar and magnolias to puzzle one's noses ! And how the tar-barrels must all be surpris'd

To find themselves seated like "Love among roses!"

What a pity we can't, by precautions like these,
Clear the air of that other still viler infection;

That radical pest, that old whiggish disease,

Of which cases, true-blue, are in every direction.

Stead of barrels, let's light up an Auto da Fé
Of a few good combustible Lords of "the Club;"

The M- -s of H-tf-d's Fête. From dread of cholera his Lordship had ordered tar-barrels to be burned in every direction.