Then, unless

ye the Church would submerge, ye

Must leave us in peace to augment

For the wretch who could number the Clergy,

With few will be ever content.*

But the wretch who can number his kisses,
With few will be ever content.

A SAD CASE.

"If it be the undergraduate season at which this rabies religiosa is to be so fearful, what security has Mr. G-lb-n against it at this moment, when his son is actually exposed to the full venom of an association with Dissenters?"-The Times, March 25.

How sad a case!-just think of it—
If G-lb-n junior should be bit

By some insane Dissenter, roaming

Through Granta's halls, at large and foaming,
And with that aspect, ultra crabbed

Which marks Dissenters when they're rabid !

God only knows what mischiefs might
Result from this one single bite,

Or how the venom, once suck'd in,

Might spread and rage through kith and kin.

Mad folks, of all denominations,
First turn upon their own relations :
So that one G-lb-n, fairly bit,
Might end in maddening the whole kit,
Till, ah, ye gods, we'd have to rue

Our G-lb-n senior bitten too;

The Hychurchphobia in those veins,
Where Tory blood now redly reigns ;-
And that dear man, who now perceives
Salvation only in lawn sleeves,
Might, tainted by such coarse infection,
Run mad in the' opposite direction,
And think, poor man, 'tis only given
To linsey-woolsey to reach Heaven!

Just fancy what a shock 'twould be
Our G-lb-n in his fits to see,
Tearing into a thousand particles
His once-lov'd Nine and Thirty Articles;
(Those Articles his friend, the Duke*,
For Gospel, t'other night, mistook ;)
Cursing cathedrals, deans, and singers-
Wishing the ropes might hang the ringers-
Pelting the church with blasphemies,

Even worse than Parson B-v-rl—y's ; —
And ripe for severing Church and State,
Like any creedless reprobate,

* The Duke of Wellington, who styled them "the Articles of Christianity."

Or like that class of Methodists

Prince Waterloo styles "Atheists!"

But 'tis too much-the Muse turns pale, And o'er the picture drops a veil, Praying, God save the G-lb-rns all From mad Dissenters, great and small!

A DREAM OF HINDOSTAN.

risum teneatis, amici.

"THE longer one lives, the more one learns, Said I, as off to sleep I went,

Bemus'd with thinking of Tithe concerns,

And reading a book, by the Bishop of FERNS *, On the Irish Church Establishment.

But, lo, in sleep, not long I lay,

When Fancy her usual tricks began, And I found myself bewitch'd away To a goodly city in Hindostan

A city, where he, who dares to dine

On aught but rice, is deem'd a sinner; Where sheep and kine are held divine, And, accordingly-never drest for dinner.

"But how is this?" I wondering criedAs I walk'd that city, fair and wide,

* An indefatigable scribbler of anti-Catholic pamphlets.