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 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. "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. All future Vicars of B-mh-m rise, 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; He would not like a true-born Vicar feel. Thou, too, L-ndy of L-ck-ngt-n! 'Tis true, in the pockets of thy small-clothes Warning them all to their rights to wake, *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. The Times, August, 1833. &c. † One of the various general tern.s under which oblations, tithes, &c. are comprised. One grain of musk, it is said, perfumes FOOLS' PARADISE. DREAM THE FIRST. I HAVE been, like Puck, I have been, in a trice, To a realm they call Fools' Paradise, Lying N. N. E. of the Land of Sense, And seldom bless'd with a glimmer thence. Where a light of its own gilds every face; '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 |