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With the comforting thought that, in place and in Just so round our Ov-rt-n's cradle, no doubt, 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,
Which you help'd me to make for my patient last
year,-

[Goes to a cupboard and brings out
a strait waistcoat and gag.

And such rest I've enjoy'd from his raving since
then,

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;

There-tighter-the gag in the mouth, by all

means.

Delightful!-all's snug-not a squeak need you fear,

You may now put your anodynes off till next year.

Tenth ducklings and chicks were seen flitting about;
Goose embryos, waiting their doom'd decimation,
Came, shadowing forth his adult destination,
And small, sucking tithe-pigs, in musical droves,
Announc'd the Church poet whom Chester ap-
proves.

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

swan.

Little thought'st thou such fate could a poet befall,
Without any effort of fancy, at all;
Little thought'st thou the world would in Ov-rt-n

find

A bird, ready-made, somewhat different in kind,
But as perfect as Michaelmas' self could produce,
By gods yclept anser, by mortals a goose.

[Scene closes.

SCENE

FROM A PLAY, ACTED AT OXFORD, CALLED

"MATRICULATION."5

1834.

TO THE REV. CH-RL-S OV-RT-N,
CURATE OF ROMALDKIRK.

AUTHOR OF THE PORTICAL PORTRAITURE OF THE CHURCH.1

1833.

SWEET singer of Romaldkirk, thou who art
reckon'd,

By critics Episcopal, David the Second,2
If thus, as a Curate, so lofty your flight,
Only think, in a Rectory, how you would write!
Once fairly inspir'd by the " Tithe-crown'd Apollo,"
(Who beats, I confess it, our lay Phoebus hollow,
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

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[Boy discovered at a table, with the Thirty-nine Articles before
him. Enter the Rt. Rev. Doctor Ph-llp-ts.]

Doctor P.-THERE, my lad, lie the Articles-(Boy
begins to count them) just thirty-nine-
No occasion to count-you've now only to sign.
At Cambridge, where folks are less High-church
than we,

The whole Nine-and-Thirty are lump'd into Three.
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.

5 "It appears that when a youth of fifteen goes to be matriculated at Oxford, and is required first to subscribe Thirty-nine Articles of Religious Belief, this only means that he engages himself afterwards to understand what is now above his comprehension; that he expresses no assent at all to what he signs; and that he is (or ought to be) at full liberty, when he has studied the subject, to withdraw his provisional assent."— Edinburgh Review, No. 120.

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. Athanasius's Creed,

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

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

All confounded particular young boobies, like you. This comes of Reforming!-all's o'er with our land, When people won'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.

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.'
'Tis true, in the pockets of thy small-clothes
The claim'd "obvention" 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."

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LATE TITHE CASE.

"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,
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;

FOOL'S PARADISE.

DREAM THE FIRST.

I HAVE been, like Puck, I have been, in a trice, To a realm they call Fool's Paradise,

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!—

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. sterling, on behalf of the Rev. F. L-dy, Rector of, &c. &c.— The Times, August 1833,

2 One of the various general terms under which oblations, tithes, &c., are comprised.

"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;
Which made them heads most fit to be
Stuck up on a University,
Which yearly hatches, in its schools,
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 befel,
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 thirtyone 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.

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And, hark! from the shore a g'ad welcome there

came

"Arrah, Paddy from Cork, is it you, my sweet boy?"

While Pat stood astounded, to hear his own name Thus hail'd by black devils, who caper'd for joy!

-

In England, where, spite of the infidel's laughter, "Tis certain our souls are look'd very well atter, 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

Can it possibly be?- half amazement half And now comes old Cocker. In Ireland we're doubt,

Pat listens again-rubs his eyes and looks steady;

Then heaves a deep sigh, and in horror yells out, "Good Lord! only think-black and curly already!"

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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 Kule of Three,
The Irish Church question's resolv'd to a T;
Keeping always that excellent maxim in view,
That, in saving men's souls, we must save money

too.

Nay, if as St. Roden complains is the case-
The half million of soul is decreasing apace,
The demand, too, for bishop will also fall off,
Till the tithe of one, taken in kind, be enough.
But, as fractions imply that we'd have to dissect,
And to cutting up Bishops I strongly object,
We've a small, fractious prelate whom well we
could spare,

Who has just the same decimal worth, to a hair
And, not to leave Ireland too much in the lurch
We'll let her have Ex-t-r, sole, as her Church.

LES HOMMES AUTOMATES.

1834.

"We are persuaded that this our artificial man will not only walk and speak, and perform most of the outward functions of animal life, but (being wound up once a week will perhaps resort. as well as most of your country parsons."- Memoirs of Martines Scriblerus, chap. xii.

Ir being an object now to meet
With Parsons that don't want to eat,
Fit men to fill those Irish rectories,
Which soon will have but scant refectories,
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', but clerical,

by Scriblerus, constructed their artificial man.

4 The wooden models used by painters are, it is well known, called "lay figures."

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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.

The' 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 serv'd 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,

Thus, having your couple, and one a lord's cousin, Young materials for peers may be had by the dozen; And 'tis hard if, inventing each small mother's son of 'em,

You can't somehow manage to prove yourself one of 'em.

Should registers, deeds, and such matters refractory,
Stand in the way of this lord-manufactory,
I've merely to hint, as a secret auricular,
One grand rule of enterprise,-don't be particular.
A man who once takes such a jump at nobility,
Must not mince the matter, like folks of nihility,
But clear thick and thin with true lordly agility.

'Tis true, to a would-be descendant from Kings,
Parish-registers sometimes are troublesome things;
As oft, when the vision is near brought about,
Some goblin, in shape of a grocer, grins out;
Or some barber, perhaps, with my Lord mingles
bloods,

And one's patent of peerage is left in the suds.

But there are ways-when folks are resolv'd to be lords

Of expurging ev'n troublesome parish records: What think ye of scissors? depend on't no heir

Which (now that the eating's o'er) comes cheap. Of a Shamdos should go unsupplied with a pair

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.

HOW TO MAKE ONE'S SELF A PEER, ACCORDING TO THE NEWEST RECEIPT, AS DISCLOSED IN A LATE HERALDIC WORK.1

1834.

1 CHOOSE Some title that's dormant- the Peerage
hath many
Lord Baron of Shamdos sounds nobly as any.
Next, catch a dead cousin of said defunct Peer,
And marry him off-hand, in some given year,
To the daughter of somebody,—no matter who,-
Fig, the grocer himself, if you're hard run, will do;
For, the Medici pills still in heraldry tell,
And why shouldn't lollypops quarter as well?

The Claim to the barony of Chandos (if I recollect right) advanced by the late Sir Eg-r-t-n Br-d-s.

As, whate'er else the learn'd in such lore may invent,

Your scissors does wonders in proving descent.
Yes, poets may sing of those terrible shears
With which Atropos snips off both bumpkins and

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