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find a single sentence, like those meek deliverances to God's mercy, with which Laud accompanied his votes for the mutilations and loathsome dunge. oning of Leighton and others!-no where such a pious prayer as we find in Bishop Hall's memoranda of his own life, concerning the subtle and witty atheist that so grievously perplexed and gravelled him at Sir Robert Drury's till he prayed to the Lord to remove him, and behold! his prayers were heard, for shortly afterward this Philistine-combatant went to London: and there perished of the plague in great misery! In short, no where shall we find the least approach, in the lives and writings of John Milton or Jeremy Taylor, to that guarded gentleness, to that sighing reluctance, with which the holy brethren of the Inquisition deliver over a condemned heretic to the civil magistrate, recommending him to mercy, and hoping that the magistrate will treat the erring brother with all possible mildness!-the magistrate, who too well knows what would be his own fate, if he dared offend them by acting on their recommendation.

The opportunity of diverting the reader from myself to characters more worthy of his attention, has led me far beyond my first intention; but it is not unimportant to expose the false zeal which has occasioned these attacks on our elder patriots. It has been too much the fashion, first to personify the Church of England, and then to speak of different individuals, who in different ages have been rulers in that Church, as if in some strange way they constituted its personal identity. Why should a clergyman of the present day feel interested in the defence of Laud or Sheldon? Surely it is sufficient for the warmest partisan of our establishment, that he can assert with truth,-when our Church persecuted, it was on mistaken principles held in common by all Christendom; and at all events, far less culpable was this intolerance in the Bishops, who were maintaining the existing laws, than the persecuting spirit afterwards shown by their successful opponents, who had no such excuse, and who should have been taught mercy by their own sufferings, and wisdom by the utter failure of the experiment in their own case. We can say, that our Church,' apostolical in its faith, primitive in its ceremonies, unequalled in its liturgical forms; that our Church, which has kindled and displayed more bright and burning lights of genius and learning, than all other Protestant Churches since the Reformation, was (with the single exception of the times of Laud and Sheldon) least intolerant, when all Christians unhappily deemed a species of intolerance their religious duty; that Bishops of our Church were among the first that contended against this error; and finally, that since the Reformation, when tolerance became a fashion, the Church of England in a tolerating age, has shown herself eminently tolerant, and far more so, both in spirit and in fact, than many of her most bitter opponents, who profess to deem toleration itself an insult on the rights of mankind! As to myself, who not only know the Church-Establishment to be tolerant, but who see in it the greatest, if not the sole safe bulwark of toleration, I feel no necessity of defending or palliating oppressions under the two Charleses, in order to exclaim with a full and fervent heart, Esto perpetua!

FIRE, FAMINE, AND SLAUGHTER.

A WAR ECLOGUE.

The Scene a desolated Track in La Vendée. FAMINE is discovered lying on the ground; to her enter FIRE and SLaughter.

FAMINE.

SISTERS! sisters! who sent you here?

SLAUGHTER. [to FIRE.]

I will whisper it in her ear.

FIRE.

No! no! no!

Spirits hear what spirits tell :
'Twill make a holiday in Hell.
No! no! no!

Myself, I named him once below,
And all the souls, that damned be,
Leaped up at once in anarchy,

Clapped their hands and danced for glee.
They no longer heeded me;

But laughed to hear Hell's burning rafters
Unwillingly re-echo laughters!
No! no! no!

Spirits hear what spirits tell :
'Twill make a holiday in Hell!

FAMINE.

Whisper it, sister! so and so!
In a dark hint, soft and slow.

SLAUGHTER.

Letters four do form his name-
And who sent you?

BOTH.

The same! the same!

SLAUGHTER.

He came by stealth, and unlocked my den,
And I have drunk the blood since then
Of thrice three hundred thousand men.

BOTH.

Who bade you do it?

SLAUGHTER.

The same! the same!

Letters four do form his name.

He let me loose, and cried Halloo!
To him alone the praise is due.

FAMINE.

Thanks, sister, thanks! the men have bled,
Their wives and their children faint for bread.
I stood in a swampy field of battle;
With bones and skulls I made a rattle,
To frighten the wolf and carrion-crow

And the homeless dog-but they would not go.
So off I flew for how could I bear

To see them gorge their dainty fare?

I heard a groan and a peevish squall,
And through the chink of a cottage-wall—
Can you guess what I saw there?

BOTH.

Whisper it, sister! in our ear.

FAMINE.

A baby beat its dying mother:

I had starved the one and was starving the other!

BOTH.

Who bade you do't?

FAMINE.

The same! the same!

Letters four do form his name.
He let me loose, and cried Halloo !
To him alone the praise is due.

FIRE.

Sisters! I from Ireland came!
Hedge and corn-fields all on flame,
I triumphed o'er the setting sun!
And all the while the work was done,
On as I strode with my huge strides,
I flung back my head and I held my sides,
It was so rare a piece of fun

To see the sweltered cattle run

With uncouth gallop through the night,
Scared by the red and noisy light!

By the light of his own blazing cot
Was many a naked rebel shot:

The house-stream met the flame and hissed,
While crash! fell in the roof, I wist,

On some of those old bed-rid nurses,
That deal in discontent and curses.

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And in an hour would you repay
An eight years' work?-Away! away!
I alone am faithful! I

Cling to him everlastingly.

THE DEVIL'S THOUGHTS.

I.

FROM his brimstone bed at break of day
A walking the Devil is gone,

To visit his snug little farm the Earth,
And see how his stock goes on.

II.

Over the hill and over the dale,

And he went over the plain,

And backward and forward he switched his long tail As a gentleman switches his cane.

III.

And how then was the Devil drest?

Oh! he was in his Sunday's best :

His jacket was red and his breeches were blue, And there was a hole where the tail came through.

IV.

He saw a Lawyer killing a viper

On a dunghill hard by his own stable;

And the Devil smiled, for it put him in mind

Of Cain and his brother Abel.

V.

He saw an Apothecary on a white horse

Ride by on his vocations;

And the Devil thought of his old friend
Death in the Revelations.

VI.

He saw a cottage with a double coach-house,
A cottage of gentility;

And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin
Is pride that apes humility.

VII.

He peeped into a rich bookseller's shop,
Quoth he, "We are both of one college!
For I sate myself, like a cormorant, once
Hard by the tree of knowledge.'

→ And all amid them stood the tree of life

High eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit

Of vegetable gold (query paper money :) and next to Life

Our Death, the tree of knowledge, grew fast by.

VIII.

Down the river did glide, with wind and with tide,
A pig with vast celerity;

And the Devil look'd wise as he saw how the while,
It cut its own throat. "There!" quoth he with a smile,
"Goes England's commercial prosperity."

IX.

As he went through Cold-Bath Fields he saw

A solitary cell;

And the Devil was pleased, for it gave him a hint
For improving his prisons in Hell.

X.

He saw a Turnkey in a trice

Fetter a troublesome blade;

"Nimbly," quoth he, “do the fingers move
If a man be but used to his trade."

XI.

He saw the same Turnkey unfetter a man
With but little expedition,

Which put him in mind of the long debate
On the Slave-trade abolition.

XII.

He saw an old acquaintance

As he passed by a Methodist meeting ;

She holds a consecrated key,

And the Devil nods her a greeting.

XIII.

She turned up her nose, and said,
"Avaunt! my name's Religion,"
And she looked to Mr.

And leered like a love-sick pigeon.

So clomb this first grand thief

Thence up he flew, and on the tree of life
Sat like a cormorant.

Par. Lost, iv. The allegory here is so apt, that in a catalogue of various readings obtained from collating the MSS. one might expect to find it noted, that for "life" Cod. quid. habent, "trade.' Though indeed the trade, i.e. the bibliopolic, so called kar' ¿¿óxη, may be regarded as Life sensu eminentiori; a suggestion, which I owe to a young retailer in the hosiery line, who on hearing a description of the net profits, dinner parties, country houses, &c. of the trade, exclaimed, 'Ay! that's what I call Life now!"-This "Life, our Death," is thus happily contrasted with the fruits of authorship-Sic nos non nobis mellificamus apes. Of this poem, which with the Fire, Famine, and Slaughter, first appeared in the Morning Post, the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 9th, and 16th stanzas were dictated by Mr. Southey. See Apologetic Preface.

If any one should ask who General meant, the Author begs leave to inform him, that he did once see a red-faced person in a dream whom by the dress he took for a General; but he might have been mistaken, and most certainly he did not hear any names mentioned. In simple verity, the author never meant any one, or indeed any thing but to put a concluding stanza to his doggerel,

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