A thief, who cometh in the night,

With whole boots and net pantaloons, Like some one whom it were not right To mention ;-or the luckless wight, From whom he steals nine silver spoons

But in this case he did appear

Like a slop-merchant from Wapping, And with smug face, and eye severe, On every side did perk and peer Till he saw Peter dead or napping.

He had on an upper Benjamin
(For he was of the driving schism)
In the which he wrapt his skin
From the storm he travelled in,
For fear of rheumatism.

He called the ghost out of the corse;
It was exceedingly like Peter,
Only its voice was hollow and hoarse;
It had a queerish look of course;
Its dress too was a little neater.

The Devil knew not his name and lot
Peter knew not that he was Bell:
Each had an upper stream of thought,
Which made all seem as it was not;
Fitting itself to all things well

Peter thought he had parents dear,
Brothers, sisters, cousins, cronies,
In the fens of Lincolnshire;
He perhaps had found them there
Had he gone and boldly shown his

Solemn phiz in his own village;

Where he thought oft when a boy He'd clomb the orchard walls to pillage The produce of his neighbour's tillage, With marvellous pride and joy.

And the Devil thought he had,
'Mid the misery and confusion

Of an unjust war, just made
A fortune by the gainful trade

Of giving soldiers rations bad

The world is full of strange delusion

That he had a mansion planned

In a square like Grosvenor-square,
That he was aping fashion, and
That he now came to Westmoreland
To see what was romantic there.

And all this, though quite ideal,
Ready at a breath to vanish,

Was a state not more unreal
Than the peace he could not feel,

Or the care he could not banish.

After a little conversation,

The Devil told Peter, if he chose, He'd bring him to the world of fashion By giving him a situation

In his own service-and new clothes.

And Peter bowed, quite pleased and proud,
And after waiting some few days
For a new livery-dirty yellow

Turned up with black-the wretched fellow
Was bowled to Hell in the Devil's chaise.

PART THIRD.

HELL

HELL is a city much like London-
A populous and a smoky city;
There are all sorts of people undone,

And there is little or no fun done;

Small justice shown, and still less pity.

There is a Castles, and a Canning,
A Cobbett, and a Castlereagh ;
All sorts of caitiff corpses planning,
All sorts of cozening for trepanning
Corpses less corrupt than they.

There is a ***, who has lost

His wits, or sold them, none knows which; He walks about a double ghost,

And though as thin as Fraud almost,
Ever grows more grim and rich.

There is a Chancery Court; a King;
A manufacturing niob; a set
Of thieves who by themselves are sent
Similar thieves to represent;

An army; and a public debt,

Which last is a scheme of paper money,
And means-being interpreted-
"Bees, keep your wax-give us the honey,
And we will plant, while skies are sunny,
Flowers, which in winter serve instead."

There is great talk of revolution—
And a great chance of despotism;
German soldiers-camps-confusion-
Tumults-lotteries-rage-delusion-

Gin-suicide-and methodism ;

Taxes too, on wine and bread,

And meat and beer, and tea, and cheese; From which those patriots pure are fed,

Who gorge before they reel to bed

The tenfold essence of all these.

There are mincing women, mewing,

(Like cats, who amant miserè,*)
Of their own virtue, and pursuing
Their gentler sisters to that ruin,
Without which-what were chastity?†

Lawyers-judges-old hobnobbers

Are there; bailiffs-chancellorsBishops great and little robbersRhymesters-pamphleteers-stock-jobbersMen of glory in the wars,—

Things whose trade is, over ladies

To lean, and flirt, and stare, and simper,
Till all that is divine in woman

Grows cruel, courteous, smooth, inhuman,
Crucified 'twixt a smile and whimper ;—

Thrusting, toiling, wailing, moiling,
Frowning, preaching-such a riot!

*One of the attributes in Linnæus's description of the Cat. To a similar cause the caterwauling of more than one species of this genus is to be referred;—except, indeed, that the poor quadruped is compelled to quarrel with its own pleasures, whilst the biped is supposed only to quarrel with those of others.

† What would this husk and excuse for a virtue be without its kernel prostitution, or the kernel prostitution without this husk of a virtue? I wonder the women of the town do not form an association, like the Society for the Suppression of Vice, for the support of what may be called the "King, Church, and Constitution" of their order. is almost too horrible for a joke.

But this subject