Now, talks of a mystery, wrapp'd in a sheet, With halo (by way of a nightcap) upon it! 5 We shudder in tracing these terrible lines; Something bad they must mean, though we can't make it out;

assault ;

Thrones toppling around, churches brought to

the hammer;

And accounts have just reach'd us that one Mr. Galt Has declar'd open war against English and Grammar!

He had long been suspected of some such design,
And, the better his wicked intents to arrive at,
Had lately 'mong C-lb-n's troops of the line
(The penny-a-line men) enlisted as private.

There school'd, with a rabble of words at command, Scotch, English, and slang, in promiscuous alliance,

He, at length, against Syntax has taken his stand, And sets all the Nine Parts of Speech at defiance.

Next advices, no doubt, further facts will afford ; In the mean time the danger most imminent grows, He has taken the Life of one eminent Lord,

And whom he'll next murder the Lord only knows.

Wednesday Evening.

Since our last, matters, luckily, look more serene ; Though the rebel, 'tis stated, to aid his defection, Has seized a great Powder-no, Puff Magazine, And the' explosions are dreadful in every direction.

What his meaning exactly is, nobody knows,

As he talks (in a strain of intense botheration) Of lyrical "ichor 1," "gelatinous" prose,2

And a mixture call'd amber immortalization.3

Now, he raves of a bard he once happen'd to meet, Seated high" among rattlings," and churning a sonnet ; 4

That they're all Anti-English no Christian can doubt.

RESOLUTIONS

PASSED AT A LATE MEETING OF

REVERENDS AND RIGHT REVERENDS.

RESOLV'D-to stick to every particle Of every Creed and every Article; Reforming nought, or great or little, We'll stanchly stand by every tittle, And scorn the swallow of that soul Which cannot boldly bolt the whole.

Resolv'd that, though St. Athanasius
In damning souls is rather spacious —
Though wide and far his curses fall,
Our Church "hath stomach for them all;"
And those who're not content with such,
May e'en be d-d ten times as much.
Resolv'd-such liberal souls are we―
Though hating Nonconformity,
We yet believe the cash no worse is
That comes from Nonconformist purses.
Indifferent whence the money reaches
The pockets of our reverend breeches,
To us the Jumper's jingling penny
Chinks with a tone as sweet as any;
And even our old friends Yea and Nay
May through the nose for ever pray,
If also through the nose they'll pay.

Resolv'd, that Hooper7, Latimer, 8
And Cranmer, all extremely err,

2 That gelatinous character of their effusions."— Ibid. 3" The poetical embalmment, or rather, amber immortalization." Ibid.

4 "Sitting amidst the shrouds and rattlings, churning an inarticulate melody."— Ibid.

5"He was a mystery in a winding sheet, crowned with a halo." Ibid.

6 One of the questions propounded to the Puritans in 1573 was-"Whether the Book of Service was good and godly, every tittle grounded on the Holy Scripture?" On which an honest Dissenter remarks" Surely they had a wonderful

7" They," the Bishops, "know that the primitive Church had no such Bishops. If the fourth part of the bishopric remained unto the Bishop, it were sufficient.”— On the Com mandments, p. 72.

"Since the Prelates were made Lords and Nobles, the plough standeth, there is no work done, the people starve.”— Lat. Serm.

9" of whom have come all these glorious titles, styles, and pomps into the Church. But I would that I, and all my brethren, the Bishops, would leave all our styles, and write the styles of our offices," &c.—Life of Cranmer, by Strype, Appendix.

Should have made his godly stomach rise,
Even more than ever, 'gainst Sunday pies-
He has view'd things quite with different eyes;
Is beginning to take, on matters divine,
Like Charles and his Bishops, the sporting line-
Is all for Christians jigging in pairs,
As an interlude 'twixt Sunday prayers;·
Nay, talks of getting Archbishop H-1-y
To bring in a Bill, enacting duly,
That all good Protestants, from this date,
May, freely and lawfully, recreate,

Of a Sunday eve, their spirits moody,

With Jack in the Straw, or Punch and Judy.

Oh far more proper and well-bred
To stick to writing books instead ;
And show the world how two Blue lovers
Can coalesce, like two book-covers,
(Sheep-skin, or calf, or such wise leather,)
Letter'd at back, and stitch'd together,
Fondly as first the binder fix'd 'em,
With nought but-literature betwixt 'em.

A BLUE LOVE-SONG.

SUNDAY ETHICS.

A SCOTCH ODE.

TO MISS

Air." Come live with me, and be my love."

COME wed with me, and we will write,
My Blue of Blues, from morn till night.
Chas'd from our classic souls shall be
All thoughts of vulgar progeny ;

And thou shalt walk through smiling rows
Of chubby duodecimos,

While I, to match thy products nearly,
Shall lie-in of a quarto yearly.
'Tis true, ev'n books entail some trouble;
But live productions give one double.
Correcting children is such bother,
While printers' devils correct the other.
Just think, my own Malthusian dear,
How much more decent 'tis to hear
From male or female as it may be
"How is your book?" than "How's your baby?"
And, whereas physic and wet nurses
Do much exhaust paternal purses,

Our books, if rickety, may go
And be well dry-nurs'd in the Row;
And, when God wills to take them hence,
Are buried at the Row's expense.

Besides (as 'tis well prov'd by thee,
In thy own Works, vol. 93.)
The march, just now, of population
So much outstrips all moderation,
That even prolific herring-shoals
Keep pace not with our erring souls.1

See "Ella of Garveloch."-Garveloch being a place where there was a large herring-fishery, but where, as we are told

It chanc'd at Drury Lane, one Easter night,
When the gay gods, too blest to be polite,
Gods at their ease, like those of learn'd Lucretius,
Laugh'd,whistled, groan'd, uproariously facetious -
A well-dress'd member of the middle gallery,
Whose "ears polite" disdain'd such low canaillerie,
Rose in his place
-so grand, you'd almost swear
Lord W-nch-ls-a himself stood towering
there-

And like that Lord of dignity and nous,
Said, "Silence, fellows, or - I'll leave the house!!"

THE NUMBERING OF THE CLERGY.

PARODY ON SIR CHARLES HAN. WILLIAMS'S FAMOUS ODE,

"COME, CLOE, AND GIVE ME SWEET KISSES."

"We want more Churches and more Clergymen." Bishop of London's late Charge. "Rectorum numerum, terris pereuntibus, augent." Claudian in Eutrop.

COME, give us more Livings and Rectors,
For, richer no realm ever gave;
But why, ye unchristian objectors,
Do ye ask us how many we crave? 2

Oh, there can't be too many rich Livings
For souls of the Pluralist kind,
Who, despising old Cocker's misgivings,
To numbers can ne'er be confin'd. 3

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 the' 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 lov'd 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,

Bemus'd with thinking of Tithe concerns,
And reading a book, by the Bishop of FERNS, 2
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 drest for dinner.