"ONCE more," said Jerome, "I'll run up and see
How the Church goes on," and off set he.
Just then the packet-boat, which trades
Betwixt our planet and the shades,

Had arriv'd below, with a freight so queer,
"My eyes!" said Jerome, "what have we
here?"-

For he saw, when nearer he explor'd,
They'd a cargo of Bishops' wigs aboard.
"They are ghosts of wigs," said Charon, “all,
"Once worn by nobs Episcopal.3
"For folks on earth, who've got a store
"Of cast off things they'll want no more,
"Oft send them down, as gifts, you know,
"To a certain Gentleman here below."

1 Witness his well known pun on the name of his adversary, Vigilantius, whom he calls facetiously Dormitantius,

2 The suspicion attached to some of the early Fathers of being Arians in their doctrine would appear to derive some confirmation from this passage.

a 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.

"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.

66

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," to follow," And off he sets, with a loud view-hollo, At Hodgson's heels, to catch, if he can, A glimpse of this singular plural man. But, talk of Sir Boyle Roche's bird! 6 To compare him with Hodgson is absurd. "Which way, sir, pray, is the doctor gone?""He is now at his living at Hillingdon."

You're a juvenile performer, but once you begin, You can't think how fast you may train your hand in :

And (smiling) who knows but old Tory may take to the shelf,

With the comforting thought that, in place and in pelf,

He's succeeded by one just as-bad as himself? Dr. Whig (looking flattered). — Why, to tell you the truth, I've a small matter here,

Having gotten, besides the old Nine's inspiration,
The Tenth of all eatable things in creation,)
There's nothing, in fact, that a poet like you,
So be-nin'd and be-tenth'd, couldn't easily do.
Round the lips of the sweet-tongued Athenian 3
they say,

While yet but a babe in his cradle he lay,
Wild honey-bees swarm'd, as a presage to tell
Of the sweet-flowing words that thence afterwards
fell.

a strait waistcoat and gag.

That I have made up my mind he shall wear it again.

Dr. Tory (embracing him). — Oh, charming!

My dear Doctor Whig, you're a treasure. Next to torturing myself, to help you is a pleasure. [Assisting Dr. Whig. Give me leave-I've some practice in these mad machines;

O Horace! when thou, in thy vision of yore,
Didst dream that a snowy-white plumage come o'er
Thy etherealis'd limbs, stealing downily on,
Till, by Fancy's strong spell, thou wert turn'd to a

swan, +

Let's run o'er the items;- there's Justification, Predestination, and Supererogation,

Not forgetting Salvation and Creed Athanasian, Till we reach, at last, Queen Bess's Ratification. That's sufficient-now, sign-having read quite enough,

You "believe in the full and true meaning thereof?" (Boy stares.)

Oh, a mere form of words, to make things smooth and brief,

A commodious and short make-believe of belief, Which our Church has drawn up, in a form thus articular,

To keep out, in general, all who're particular. But what's the boy doing? what! reading all through,

And my luncheon fast cooling!—this never will do. Boy (poring over the Articles.)— Here are points which-pray, Doctor, what's "Grace of Congruity?"

Doctor P. (sharply). - You'll find out, young sir, when you've more ingenuity.

At present, by signing, you pledge yourself merely,
Whate'er it may be, to believe it sincerely.
Both in dining and signing we take the same plan,—
First, swallow all down, then digest-as we can.
Boy (still reading).—I've to gulp, I see, St. Atha-
nasius's Creed,

Which, I'm told, is a very tough morsel, indeed;
As he damns-

Doctor P. (aside).- Ay, and so would I, will

ingly, too,

All confounded particular young boobies, like you. This comes of Reforming!-all's o'er with our land, When people wo'n't stand what they can't understand;

Nor perceive that our ever-rever'd Thirty-Nine Were made, not for men to believe, but to sign. [Exit Dr. P. in a passion.

LATE TITHE CASE.

But for Holy Church's future heirs,
Who've an abstract right to that pig, as theirs ;-
The law supposing that such heirs male
Are already seised of the pig, in tail.
No, not for himself hath B-mh-m's priest
His "well-belov'd" of their pennies fleec'd:
But it is that, before his prescient eyes,
All future Vicars of B-mh-m rise,
With their embryo daughters, nephews, nieces,
And 'tis for them the poor he fleeces.
He heareth their voices, ages hence,
Saying "Take the pig" -"oh take the pence;"
The cries of little Vicarial dears,
The unborn B-mh-mites, reach his ears;
And, did he resist that soft appeal,
He would not like a true-born Vicar feel.

Thou, too, L-ndy of L-ck-ngt-n!
A Rector true, if e'er there was one,
Who, for sake of the L-ndies of coming ages,
Gripest the tenths of labourers' wages,1
"Tis true, in the pockets of thy small-clothes
The claim'd "obvention 2" of four-pence goes;
But its abstract spirit, unconfin'd,
Spreads to all future Rector-kind,
Warning them all to their rights to wake,
And rather to face the block, the stake,
Than give up their darling right to take.

One grain of musk, it is said, perfumes
(So subtle its spirit) a thousand rooms,
And a single four-pence, pocketed well,
Through a thousand rectors' lives will tell
Then still continue, ye reverend souls,
And still as your rich Pactolus rolls,
Grasp every penny on every side,
From every wretch, to swell its tide:
Remembering still what the Law lays down,
In that pure poetic style of its own,
"If the parson in esse submits to loss, he
"Inflicts the same on the parson in posse."

"Sic vos non vobis."

1833.

"The Vicar of B-mh-m desires me to state that, in consequence of the passing of a recent Act of Parliament, he is compelled to adopt measures which may by some be considered harsh or precipitate; but, in duty to what he owes to his successors, he feels bound to preserve the rights of the vicarage." Letter from Mr. S. Powell, August 6.

No, not for yourselves, ye reverend men,
Do you take one pig in every ten,

1 Fourteen agricultural labourers (one of whom received so little as six guineas for yearly wages, one eight, one nine, another ten guineas, and the best paid of the whole not more than 187. annually) were all, in the course of the autumn of 1832, served with demands of tithe at the rate of 4d. in the 17.

Which made them heads most fit to be

Stuck up on a University,

Which yearly hatches, in its schools,

Lying N. N. E. of the Land of Sense,

And seldom bless'd with a glimmer thence.
But they want it not in this happy place,
Where a light of its own gilds every face;
Or, if some wear a shadowy brow,
"Tis the wish to look wise, not knowing how.
Self-glory glistens o'er all that's there,
The trees, the flowers have a jaunty air;
The well-bred wind in a whisper blows,
The snow, if it snows, is couleur de rose,
The falling founts in a titter fall,

And the sun looks simpering down on all.

Oh, 'tisn't in tongue or pen to trace The scenes I saw in that joyous place. There were Lords and Ladies sitting together, In converse sweet, "What charming weather! — "You'll all rejoice to hear, I'm sure, "Lord Charles has got a good sinecure; "And the Premier says, my youngest brother "(Him in the Guards) shall have another. "Isn't this very, very gallant!. "As for my poor old virgin aunt,

"Who has lost her all, poor thing, at whist, "We must quarter her on the Pension List." Thus smoothly time in that Eden roll'd; It seem'd like an Age of real gold, Where all who lik'd might have a slice, So rich was that Fool's Paradise.

But the sport at which most time they spent,
Was a puppet-show, called Parliament,
Perform'd by wooden Ciceros,

As large as life, who rose to prose,
While, hid behind them, lords and squires,
Who own'd the puppets, pull'd the wires;
And thought it the very best device
Of that most prosperous Paradise,
To make the vulgar pay through the nose
For them and their wooden Ciceros.

And many more such things I saw

In this Eden of Church, and State, and Law;
Nor e'er were known such pleasant folk
As those who had the best of the joke.
There were Irish Rectors, such as resort
To Cheltenham yearly, to drink — port,
And bumper, "Long may the Church endure,
May her cure of souls be a sinecure,
And a score of Parsons to every soul
A moderate allowance on the whole."
There were Heads of Colleges, lying about,
From which the sense had all run out,
Even to the lowest classic lees,
Till nothing was left but quantities;

Such flights of young Elysian fools.

Thus all went on, so snug and nice,
In this happiest possible Paradise.
But plain it was to see, alas!
That a downfall soon must come to pass.
For grief is a lot the good and wise
Don't quite so much monopolise,
But that ("lapt in Elysium" as they are)
Even blessed fools must have their share.
And so it happen'd:
:- but what befell,
In Dream the Second I mean to tell.

THE RECTOR AND HIS CURATE;

OR, ONE POUND TWO.

"I trust we shall part, as we met, in peace and charity. My last payment to you paid your salary up to the 1st of this month. Since that, I owe you for one month, which, being a long month, of thirty-one days, amounts, as near as I can calculate, to six pounds eight shillings. My steward returns you as a debtor to the amount of SEVEN POUNDS TEN SHILLINGS FOR CON-ACRE-GROUND, which leaves some trifling balance in my favour." - Letter of Dismissal from the Rev. Marcus Beresford to his Curate, the Rev. T. A. Lyons.