Though famed for his rules Aristotle may be,
In but half of this Sage any merit I see,

For, as honest Joe Hume says, the "tottle" 199 for me!

For instance, while others discuss and debate, It is thus about Bishops I ratiocinate.

In England, where, spite of the infidel's laughter,
"Tis certain our souls are look'd very well after,
Two Bishops can well (if judiciously sunder'd)
Of parishes manage two thousand two hundred,-
Said number of parishes, under said teachers,
Containing three millions of Protestant creatures,―
So that each of said Bishops full ably controls
One million and five hundred thousands of souls.
And now comes old Cocker. In Ireland we're told,
Half a million includes the whole Protestant fold;
If, therefore, for three million souls 'tis conceded
Two proper-sized Bishops are all that is needed,
"Tis plain, for the Irish half million who want 'em,
One third of one Bishop is just the right quantum.
And thus, by old Cocker's sublime Rule of Three,
The Irish Church question's resolved to a T;
Keeping always that excellent maxim in view,
That, in saving men's souls, we must save money

It has been suggested,-lest that Church
Should, all at once, be left in the lurch,
For want of reverend men endued
With this gift of ne'er requiring food,-
To try, by way of experiment, whether
There couldn't be made, of wood and leather,
(Howe'er the notion may sound chimerical,)
Jointed figures not lay,202 but clerical,
Which, wound up carefully once a week,
Might just like parsons look and speak,
Nay even, if requisite, reason too,
As well as most Irish parsons do.

201

Th' experiment having succeeded quite,
(Whereat those Lords must much delight,
Who've shown, by stopping the Church's food,
They think it isn't for her spiritual good
To be served by parsons of flesh and blood,)
The Patentees of this new invention
Beg leave respectfully to mention,
They now are enabled to produce
An ample supply, for present use,
Of these reverend pieces of machinery,
Ready for vicarage, rectory, deanery,
Or any such-like post of skill
That wood and leather are fit to fill.

N. B.-In places addicted to arson,
We can't recommend a wooden parson:
But, if the Church any such appoints,
They'd better, at least, have iron joints.
In parts, not much by Protestants haunted,
A figure to look at's all that's wanted-
A block in black, to eat and sleep,
Which (now that the eating's o'er) comes cheap

P. S. Should the Lords, by way of a treat,
Permit the clergy again to eat,

The Church will, of course, no longer need
Imitation-parsons that never feed;
And these wood creatures of ours will sell
For secular purposes just as well-
Our Beresfords, turn'd to bludgeons stout,
May, 'stead of beating their own about,
Be knocking the brains of Papists out;
While our smooth O'Sullivans, by all means,
Should transmigrate into turning machines

This joke, the sly meaning of which was seen lucidly, Set all the devils a laughing most deucedly,

So, in went the pair, and (what none thought surprising)

Show'd talents for sinking as great as for rising; While not a grim phiz in that realm but was lighted

With joy to see spirits so twin-like united—
Or (plainly to speak) two such birds of a feather,
In one mess of venom thus spitted together.
Here a flashy imp rose-some connection, no doubt,
Of the young lord in question-and, scowling
about,

"Hoped his fiery friend, Stanley, would not be left out;

"As no schoolboy unwhipp'd, the whole world must agree,

"Loved mischief, pure mischief, more dearly than he."

But, no-the wise hag wouldn't hear of the whipster;

Not merely because, as a shrew, he eclipsed her, And nature had given him, to keep him still young, Much tongue in his head and no head in his tongue; But because she well knew that, for change ever ready,

He'd not even to mischief keep properly steady; That soon even the wrong side would cease to delight,

right;

While, on each, so at random his missiles he threw,
That the side he attack'd was most safe of the two.-
This ingredient was therefore put by on the shelf,
There to bubble, a bitter, hot mess, by itself.
"And now," quoth the hag, as her caldron she eyed,
And the titbits so friendlily rankling inside,
"There wants but some seasoning;-so, come, ere
I stew 'em,

"By way of a relish, we'll throw in '+ John Tuam.'
"In cooking up mischief, there's no flesh or fish
"Like your meddling High Priest, to add zest to
the dish."

Thus saying, she pops in the Irish Grand LamaWhich great event ends the First Act of the Drama.

ANIMAL MAGNETISM.

THOUGH famed was Mesmer, in his day, Nor less so, in ours, is Dupotet,