There were Lords and Ladies sitting together, In converse sweet, "What charming weather! "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!

66

"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 liked might have a slice, So rich was that Fools' 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 mod'rate allowance on the whole."
There were Heads of Colleges, lying about,
From which the sense had all run out,

Ev'n 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 befell,

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 thirty-one 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.

THE account is balanced-the bill drawn out,

The debit and credit all right, no doubt-
The Rector, rolling in wealth and state,
Owes to his Curate six pound eight;
The Curate, that least well-fed of men,
Owes to his Rector seven pound ten,
Which maketh the balance clearly due
From Curate to Rector, one pound two.

Ah balance, on earth unfair, uneven!
But sure to be all set right in heaven,

Where bills like these will be check'd, some day,
And the balance settled the other way:
Where Lyons the curate's hard-wrung sum
Will back to his shade with interest come;
And Marcus, the rector, deep may rue
This tot, in his favour, of one pound two.