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 th' 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 loved 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,
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!

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

A DREAM OF HINDOSTAN.

risum teneatis, amici.

THE longer one lives, the more one learns,"
Said I, as off to sleep I went,
Bemused 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 dress'd for dinner.
"But how is this?" I wond'ring cried—
As I walk'd that city, fair and wide,
And saw, in every marble street,

And my slumber fled, and my dream was sped, And I found I was lying snug in bed,

With my nose in the Bishop of FERNS's book.

THE BRUNSWICK CLUB.

A letter having been addressed to a very distinguished personage, requesting him to become the Patron of this Orange Club, a polite answer was forthwith returned, of which we have been fortunate enough to obtain a copy.

Brimstone-hall, September 1, 1828.

Private.-LORD BELZEBUB presents

To the Brunswick Club his compliments,
And much regrets to say that he
Cannot, at present, their Patron be
In stating this, Lord Belzebub

Assures, on his honor, the Brunswick Club,
That 'tisn't from any lukewarm lack
Of zeal or fire he thus holds back-
As even Lord Coal1 himself is not
For the Orange party more red-hot :
But the truth is, till their Club affords
A somewhat decenter show of Lords,
And on its list of members gets
A few less rubbishy Baronets,
Lord Belzebub must beg to be
Excused from keeping such company.

Who the devil, he humbly begs to know,
Are Lord Gl-nd-ne, and Lord D-nlo?
Or who, with a grain of sense, would go
To sit and be bored by Lord M-yo?
What living creature-except his nurse-
For Lord M-ntc-sh-l cares a curse,
Or thinks 'twould matter if Lord M-sk-rry
Were t'other side of the Stygian ferry?
Breathes there a man in Dublin town,
Who'd give but half of half-a-crown

To save from drowning my Lord R-thd-ne,
Or who wouldn't also gladly hustle in

Lords R-d-n, B-nd-n, C-le, and J-c-1-n?
In short, though, from his tenderest years,
Accustom'd to all sorts of Peers,

Lord Belzebub much questions whether
He ever yet saw, mix'd together,

As 'twere in one capacious tub,
Such a mess of noble silly-bub

As the twenty Peers of the Brunswick Club
"Tis therefore impossible that Lord B.
Could stoop to such society,

1 Usually written "Cole."

Hurrah then for the Petticoats!

To them we pledge our free-born votes; We'll have all she, and only she

Pert blues shall act as "best debaters,"

Old dowagers our Bishops be,

And termagants our Agitators.

If Vestris, to oblige the nation,

Her own Olympus will abandon, And help to prop th' Administration,

It can't have better legs to stand on. The famed Macaulay (Miss) shall show, Each evening, forth in learn'd oration; Shall move (midst general cries of "Oh !") For full returns of population: And, finally, to crown the whole, The Princess Olive,' Royal soul, Shall from her bower in Banco Regis, Descend, to bless her faithful lieges, And, 'mid our Union's loyal chorus, Reign jollily forever o'er us.

Sir,

TO THE EDITOR OF THE *

Having heard some rumors respecting the strange and awful visitation under which Lord H-nl-y has for some

time past been suffering, in consequence of his declared hostility to "anthems, solos, duets," &c., I took the liberty of making inquiries at his Lordship's house this morning, and lose no time in transmitting to you such particulars as I could

collect. It is said that the screams of his Lordship, under the operation of this nightly concert, (which is, no doubt, some trick of the Radicals,) may be heard all over the neighborhood. The female who personates St. Cecilia is supposed to be the same that, last year, appeared in the character of

not yet ascertained.

Whereat the Reformer mutter'd, "Zounds!" For he loathed sweet music with all his soul

Then, starting up, he saw a sight

That well might shock so learn'd a snorerSaint Cecilia, robed in light,

With a portable organ slung before her

And round were Cherubs, on rainbow wings, Who, his Lordship fear'd, might tire of flitting, So begg'd they'd sit—but ah! poor things,

66

They'd, none of them, got the means of sitting

Having heard," said the Saint, "you're fad hymns,

"And indeed, that musical snore betray'd you, Myself, and my choir of cerubims, "Are come, for a while, to serenade you." In vain did the horrified H-nl-y say ""Twas all a mistake"-" she was misdirected And point to a concert over the way, Where fiddlers and angels were expected.

In vain the Saint could see in his looks
(She civilly said) much tuneful lore;
So, at once, all open'd their music-books,
And herself and her Cherubs set off at score

All night duets, terzets, quartets,

Nay, long quintets most dire to hear; Ay, and old motets, and canzonets, And glees, in sets, kept boring his ear.

He tried to sleep-but it wouldn't do ;

So loud they squall'd, he must attend to 'em; Though Cherubs' songs, to his cost he knew, Were like themselves, and had no end to 'em

Oh judgment dire on judges bold,
Who meddle with music's sacred strains!

Yours, &c.

P.P.

LORD H-NL-Y AND ST. CECILIA.

Is the sentence launch'd from Apollo's throne; For Midas was given the ears of an ass, While H-nl-y is doom'd to keep his own!

s "Asseyez-vous, mes enfans."-"Il n'y a pas de çon, mon Seigneur.”

As, once the thing's well set about, No doubt but we shall hunt him out.

His Lordship's mind, of late, they say,
Hath been in an uneasy way,
Himself and colleagues not being let
To climb into the Cabinet,

To settle England's state affairs,
Hath much, it seems, unsettled theirs;

And chief to this stray Plenipo
Hath been a most distressing blow.
Already, certain to receive a
Well-paid mission to the Neva,
And be the bearer of kind words
To tyrant Nick from Tory Lords,-
To fit himself for free discussion,

His Lordship had been learning Russian;
And all so natural to him were

The accents of the Northern bear,

That, while his tones were in your ear, you
Might swear you were in sweet Siberia.
And still, poor Peer, to old and young,
He goes on raving in that tongue;
Tells you how much you would enjoy a
Trip to Dalnodoubrowskoya ;3
Talks of such places, by the score, on
As Oulisflirmchinagoboron,

And swears (for he at nothing sticks)
That Russia swarms with Raskol-niks
Though one such Nick, God knows, must
A more than ample quantity.

Such are the marks by which to know

This stray'd or stolen Plenipo;

And whosoever brings or sends

The unhappy statesman to his friends, On Carlton Terrace, shall have thanks, And-any paper but the Bank's.

P. S. Some think, the disappearance
Of this our diplomatic Peer hence
Is for the purpose of reviewing,
In person, what dear Mig is doing,
Se as to 'scape all tell-tale letters
'Bou. B-s-d, and such abettors,—
The only "wretches" for whose aid
Letters seem not to have been made.

1 Written at that memorable crisis when a distinguished Duke, then Prime Minister, acting under the inspirations of Sur Cl-d-s H-nt-r and other City worthies, advised his Majesty to give up his announced intention of dining with the Lord Mayor.

2 Among other remarkable attributes by which Sir Cl-d-s distinguished himself, the dazzling whiteness of his favorite steed was not the least conspicuous. In the Government of Perm.

Territory belonging to the mines of Kolivano-Kosskres

sense.

The name of a religious sect in Russia. "Il existe en Russie plusieurs sectes; la plus nombreuse est celle des Raskol-niks, ou vrai-croyants."-GAMBA, Voyage dans la Russie Meridionale.

"Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid."

POPE

THE DANCE OF BISHOPS;

OR, THE EPISCOPAL QUADRILLE.1

A DREAM.

1833.

Solemn dances were, on great festivals and celebrations, admitted among the primitive Christians, in which even the Bishops and dignified Clergy were performers. Scaliger

says, that the first Bishops were called Præsules,2 for no other reason than that they led off these dances."-Cyclopædia, art. Dances.

I've had such a dream—a frightful dream-
Though funny, mayhap, to wags 'twill seem,
By all who regard the Church, like us,
"Twill be thought exceedingly ominous !

As reading in bed I lay last night-
Which (being insured) is my delight—
I happen'd to doze off just as I got to
The singular fact which forms my motto.
Only think, thought I, as I dozed away,
Of a party of Churchmen dancing the hay!
Clerks, curates, and rectors, capering all,
With a neat-legg'd Bishop to open the ball!

Scarce had my eyelids time to close,
When the scene I had fancied before me rose-
An Episcopal Hop, on a scale so grand
As my dazzled eyes could hardly stand.
For, Britain and Erin clubb'd their Sees
To make it a Dance of Dignities,
And I saw-oh brightest of Church events!
A quadrille of the two Establishments,
Bishop to Bishop vis-à-vis,
Footing away prodigiously.

There was Bristol capering up to Derry,
And Cork with London making merry;
While huge Llandaff, with a See, so so,
Was to dear old Dublin pointing his toe.
There was Chester, hatch'd by woman's smile,
Performing a chaîne des Dames in style ;
While he who, whene'er the Lords' House dozes,
Can waken them up by citing Moses,
The portly Tuam was all in a hurry
To set, en avant, to Canterbury.

Meanwhile, while pamphlets stuff'd his pockets, (All out of date, like spent sky-rockets,)

1 Written on the passing of the memorable Bill, in the year 1833, for the abolition of ten Irish Bishoprics.

Literally, First Dancers.

3" And what does Moses say ?"-One of the ejaculations with which this eminent prelate enlivened his famous speech on the Catholic question.

Our Exeter stood forth to caper,
As high on the floor as he doth on paper-
Much like a dapper Dancing Dervise,
Who pirouettes his whole church-service-
Performing, 'midst those reverend souls,
Such entrechats, such cabrioles,
Such balonnés, such-rigmaroles,
Now high, now low, now this, now that,
That none could guess, what the devil he'd be at;
Though, watching his various steps, some thought
That a step in the Church was all he sought.
But alas, alas! while thus so gay,
These reverend dancers frisk'd away,
Nor Paul himself (not the saint, but he
Of the Opera-house) could brisker be,
There gather'd a gloom around their glee-
A shadow, which came and went so fast,
That ere one could say ""Tis there," 'twas past-
And, lo, when the scene again was clear'd,
Ten of the dancers had disappear'd!
Ten able-bodied quadrillers swept
From the hallow'd floor where late they stepp'd,
While twelve was all that footed it still,
On the Irish side of that grand Quadrille !

Nor this the worst:-still danced they on,
But the pomp was sadden'd, the smile was gone
And again, from time to time, the same
Ill-omen'd darkness round them came-
While still, as the light broke out anew,
Their ranks look'd less by a dozen or two;
Till ah! at last there were only found
Just Bishops enough for a four-hands-round;
And when I awoke, impatient getting,
I left the last holy pair poussetting!

N. B. As ladies in years, it seems,
Have the happiest knack at solving dreams,
I shall leave to my ancient feminine friends
Of the Standard to say what this portends.

DICK *

A CHARACTER.

Or various scraps and fragments built, Borrow'd alike from fools and wits,

A description of the method of executing this step my be useful to future performers in the same line-Ce est composé de deux mouvemens différens, savoir, pi sauter sur un pied, et se rejeter sur l'autre."—Dictiona de Danse, art. Contre-temps.