you zees what I be come to. Zame wi' all they other mice as you beholds.' And by this time I did zee that the lights was zo many mouses' eyes. They was all clargy once,' a' sez, and now they be mice, and zo they 'l bide till zuch time as they 've ben sarved out vor their misdoo'ns. Till then we be forced to haunt this here Cathedral. All day long we has to bide penn'd up in the holes and crannies and cryptisus, and at night we be let out, and 'low'd to hold a Chapter, and talk over what's goo'n on in the church. You've heard,' a' sez, o' church mice. Now you knows what they be.' Ees,' I sez, 'I've heer'd the say'n, poor as a church mouse.' Ah!' a' squeaks, I wish we hadn't ben zo rich once; we shouldn't be zo poor now. But you hold your tongue; only look, and listen, and book what hears and sees, for the good o' them (and there's plenty on

consarn.

you

'em) that it may

"Looramassy, Mast. Vrost, this here's a strange story!" exclaimed the auditors.

66

6

Who

"Strainge, but true:" said the relater. "Well, mates, whilst old Mitremouse was speak'n all t'others took and raaing'd themselves up in rows, zum on vorms, zum on the edges of pews, zum on book ledges on vront o' stalls, and one on 'em got up top o' pulpit. Now, mark,' says Mitremouse, he 's a goo'n to spake.' be 'a ?' I axes. Shovelhat,' answers Mitremouse, 'Listen to 'un.' 'My once rever'nt and now myomorphous brether'n', 'a begun -what 'a meant by myamarpus I dwooant know: 'twas haythen Grik to me. 'Tis a comfort,' says Shovelhat, under our present onhappy sarc'mstances; 'tis a 'leviaaition o' the suffer'ns as we'm a justly undergoo'n of, to con-tem-plate the prawsperraty o' the order as we b'long'd to in the world. In like manner, 'tis a aggrivaaition of our c'lamaties to behold the misfort'ns and disgreaaces on 't. We zympathizes wi' that body still; we be still jealous o' the honour o' the ridg'ment we was sogers in. Now, brether'n, I'm sure you must, all on you, feel, wi' me, the gurtest sheam' and regret when yo' considers what doo'ns, and what goon's on there have ben for some time paast in the 'stablished church.' Shovelhat pull'd up to teak brath; and I whispers to Mitremouse, Why, how come he to know about that are? There be they that tells us,' sez Mitremouse; you bide quiet.' Then on gooes Shovelhat agin.

Here

"Terrible doo'ns', a' sez, my brether'n! Shock'n doo'ns! Wus than ever ourn was; and see what 's come to we!

Sceece a

week gooes by without some scan'lous show-up 'pear'n' in the newsp'haapers. Desave'n young women, and they their own sarv'nts; zitt'n and zing'n wi' 'em in kitchen; breaak 'n the zeventh C'mandment; gett'n 'bitually tipsy in public-house; brawl'n and vight'n; cutt'n and maaim'n dumb animals; and wus,-the ship o' their own vlock! Zell'n and chaffer'n liv'ns and curacies over a bottle o' wine! Aint it sheam'ful, my brether'n? Oughtn't we to be a'most glad that we be out o' the cloth, and in this here fur, wi' smellers on 'stead o' bands? What can be the rason and the mane'n o' this terreable state o' 'fairs in the church? How to remady 't? Mayhap, my brether'n, zum on you, as knows better nor I do, will aanswer these here questsh'ns?' Wi' that, Shovelhat came down from pulput; and up stuck another in his pleace. Who's he, if you plaze, m' lard?' says I to Mitremouse. Don't m' lard me now,' a sez. That's Pluralcure; mind you 'tends to what a' zays.'

6

"Mice o' the church,' squeaks Pluralcure, 'till we poor varmint shall be enlighten'd; so long as we shall continny under these shadders o' darkness; we can only gie a guess at the causeso' things. Yet we, even we, feller mice, have zight enough to zee how the cat jumps.' At this all the mice sets up squeak'n like mad. Pard'n me,' sez Pluralcure, I meant no light 'lusion to our condition. What I manes is, we be able to conjecter, my brether'n, judg'n from what we knows. Now we knows well enough what's right and wrong; and you wishes, and I wishes, that we'd made better use o' our knowledge. And we knows that they as acts wrong, draas confusion and disgreaace on all them as belongs to 'em. Well, pride and domincer'n 's wrong; lade'n volks by the nwooas is wrong; deception 's wrong; and they as praches wrong up is wus than they as doos it. Now there's a set o' clargy sprung up at Oxford as wants to set up a authority for the church o' England aqual to what 's claaim'd by the church o' Rhooam. They must know, my brether'n, that they han't got no right to 't, no moor nor Independents and Methodishes. They must zee that nobody can purtend to 't if Rhwooam caant; and that if Rhwooam can, then they ought to gie in to Rhwooam. That's what zome on 'em, as seems honest, whether they be mistaken or not, ha done; but many bides where they be, and ates the church's bread whilst they praches agin the church's doctrines.' Here there was a gin'ral squeak'n as seem'd to zound like Name, name! Why need I tell 'ee, my brether'n?' says Pluralcure ;

'I manes the Pussyites? But the wust of all their tennuts is what they holds respect'n signater to th' articles; subscribe'n to 'em in a non-nate'ral sense.' Hear'n this, the mice gav' another squake as nigh as poss'ble to a grwooan. Beg your pard'n,' sez I to Mitremouse, but what's a non-nate'ral sense?' 'Why, a false one,' says Mitremouse; as if you was to swear to a white pig at 'sizes, when you know'd the only one you lost was a black 'un.'

6

"Now,' says Pluralcure, my b'lafe and opinion is, that all this here trouble have come upon the Church all along o' its allow'n itself to be infested wi' this here Pussyism; and my rason for thinking so is this-The backslide'ns o' paas'ns shows they be men arter all, and baint to be stuck up, and worshipp'd, and knuckled down to, moor than sich wake creeturs ought to be:' and zo Pluralcure made an end o' his spache; and his room was took by another, that Mitemouse told me was call'd Clutchglebe.

"Brother nibblers,' cries Clutchglebe, 'could our squake be heard outzide these walls, the Church would zoon be vreed vrom her reprwoaches. The cloth wants dust'n, my brether'n; the surplus blache'n. But first the build'n itself ought to be swep out. 'Tell 'ee how I'd do 't-Brother Shovelhat was talk'n o' the ridg❜ment we used to be sojers of. Why dwooant they do in the church as they does in th' army? They makes short work of a feller there if 'a praches insubordinaaition; much moor for plott'n wi' th' enemy. They'd tache a man to understand th' articles o' war in a non-nate'ral sense! Let a officer play the zot or the blackyard, and they dismisses 'un double quick from the servus for conduct unbecom'n an officer and a gen'lman. Whereas here's a feller convicted o' conduct unbecom'n a Christian and a clargyman, and 'a gits-what? Why they only suspends 'un for dree months-not by the neck, mind. My brether'n, I zay that as there be coort martials, zo there ort to be a coort clerical. I 'oodn't shoot or hang offenders, 'zactly, nor yit vlog 'em; though that 'ood sarve some on 'em right. And I dwooant zay as I'd goo so vur as to chant 'em out o' diocese, as rogues be drumm'd out o' ridg'ment. But I'd break 'em, my brether'n. I'd cashier 'em, that I 'ood; and render 'em incyaapable o' sarv'n thenceforrad in any cleric'l capassaty. That's my remady for the evils o' the church.' Zo spoke Clutchglebe, and the church mice all squeal'd out together, zay'n they entirely 'greed wi' 'un. When all at once there was heer'd a yell like the scrame o' a 'normus tom-cat, make'n the old Cathedral ring again.

Away scuttl'd mice, Mitremouse and all, to their holes and karners. At the zame time the clock toll'd one; a lot o' lights danced afore my eyes, and I felt a zart o' shock as simm'd to run droo me like lightn'n. And then I vound I'd got the use o' my limbs, and spache. But I was afeard to holler, and beun' lock'd in, there I was forced to bide till marnun', when one o' the clerks come and open'd the pleace, and let me out, moor dead nor alive. But there, now you've heer'd what I larn't from the church mice, as how this here disgreeace that have come upon the clargy o' late, have been all along o' that are Pussyism."

Here there was a dead pause; during which the auditors of Mr. Frost continued to stare at him open-mouthed, and in silence, broken only by a few ejaculations, partaking of the nature of a grunt.

At length, said Mr. Cowdry, having recovered from his bewilderment, very slowly, "Bist thee sure, now, naaighbour, thee hastn't bin draa'n the long-bow?

Mr. Frost in the most solemn manner devoted himself, if guilty of a fabrication, to Jack Ketch. ́

"Then," said young Lovelock, "the fact most likely is, that the only spirits you saw were in your own head, and had got there, along with the beer you drank, at the Black Swan. You fell asleep, man, and had something between a dream and a night

mare.

"Ees," said Goddard; "that 's what 'twas, mate. Thee must have ben a little the wus for drink."

"Ah!" cried Farmer Frost, "you med zay what you like; but you wun't argy me out o' belave'n my own zenses.

"Well," said Mr. Cowdry, "anyhow, thee must be dry arter that long story. Come, poke over thy glass, mun. But zee, the chancellor's gitt'n up from teeable; zo now I s'pose we may ha' in the pipes."

PERCIVAL LEIGH.

409

THEODORE HOOK'S GRAVE.

Α LETTER TO A JOHN OUT OF OFFICE.

BY PAUL BELL.

MR. CROAKER. "Heaven send we be all the better for it this day twelvemonth!"--The Good Natured Man.

SIR,-You are looked up to (and it may be presumed with your own acquiescence) as a Pillar of Propriety! You have withdrawn from public life, outraged-and who can wonder?-by the desperate and corrupting changes which have penetrated the whole world of affairs since your

-hot youth when George the Third was King!

In your time, however; nay, and since your retreat, too, you have done much. You have attested your championship of "the weaker sex" by administering the most lacerating chastisement to all whose pens have dared to trip aside from the paths pointed out by your immaculate nursing-grandmother-Old Toryism. You have been the truest Lucullus to the noblest Timon who ever taught our English aristocracy how to "fleet the world as they did in the old time,' by aid of the blandishments of bought Loathing, the dainties of epicurean Luxury, the obsequiousness of abject Serfdom. Your light, Sir, has not been hidden under a bushel. The Press has made much of your charity public, and recorded not a few of your dignified associations. You are now Retired Leisure, Sir: steeped in the odour of orthodoxy-driven to fall back among your recollections by way of a defence against the Anarchy pressing you so coarsely. For Time grows noisy, and Change rapid as steam. Why, Sir, you have lived to see the evil-doer brought to shame without fear or favour-the Man of Pleasure, sitting, a living Death, at the board, to which his Aspasias found beauty, and you the Attic salt!-the Political Trader replaced by the Political Free Trader-the sluggard sentenced to the Tread-mill -the slanderer compelled to sting himself to Death! After so brilliant a Past, what a degenerate Present!-It is to you, then, Sir, that, in this iron age, I would point out an instance of highmindedness and delicacy, too precious and unique for our thanks