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Double, double, toil and trouble,
Bathers pant, and waters bubble.

So much for the crowd pedestrian ;
Room now for the pinks equestrian,
Reining up their hacks and ponies,
At Fasana's or Salmoni's;
Or, if wind and legs stand sound,
Cantering in a wider round,
Which affords more choice of faces,
To admire their blood and paces---
With surprise, each new-bought horse,
Tired of the eternal course,
Pants to snuff the country air,
By green hill, or hedge-row fair,
Or share the chase, forbidden joy!
Wiser schemes his lord employ ;
"Risk one's neck and stock in trade,
In rough sport for bumpkins made?
Blood-tits are a speculation
Which may pay, by calculation,
Cent per cent in marrying well;
Let your outlays always tell."

Double, double, toil and trouble,
Simple heiresses to bubble.

Pleased with pump-room, music, shops,
And with everything but fops.
Him accosts the Squire, his neighbour,
With a brow that seems to labour
As if something dire befell.
"How now, Squire? you seem unwell."-
"Thank ye, Doctor, 'tis in vain
For old fellows to complain-
Old! I'm not turn'd sixty, though;
Young enough, as things here go,
To make love to Betsy there;
Laugh, you gipsy, if you dare.
Here's a splendid scenting-day!
Snift it as in bed I lay;
Threw my window up at six,
Wish'd myself got free from Hicks,
And across grey Robin Hood,
At the edge of Foxcombe wood,
With the old red jacket on,
And these cursed chalkstones gone.
Well, I hear you go to-morrow,
So don't I, the more's my sorrow;
Still to join this revel rout,
And be par-boil'd for the gout,
Till my bones are good for nought.-
Like my landaulet?—just bought-
Come, mount all, there's room to spare;
And let's get a gulp of air
Clear of this same frowzy place;
Eight, nine miles an hour 's no pace
To your old friends Tramp and Toby;
-Give those fat old cats the go-by,
Who keep airing up and down
'Twixt the turnpike and the town,
To save pence, and bilk the toll;
True, upon my life and soul;
Clever, well-bred horses too; -
Thrown away on such a crew.
Could I strain the law for once,
I'd commit each dizen'd dunce
Of their hopeful dandy brood
To our tread-mill, z-ds! I would;
And themselves, a murrain choke 'em,
To a spell of picking oakum,

Save 'em right, old skin-flint fusties!"-
"Softly, softly, brother justice,
Petty power makes kind hearts testy;
View all matters with the best eye.
Coxcombry wears out apace;
Meanness works its own disgrace.
• Never wonder,' was the rule
Horace taught us both at school;
And when sharp rheumatic pain
Drives me here against the grain,
From my jurisdiction ghostly,
'Tis the plan I follow mostly."
"Pshaw, absurd, a mere pretence-
Can one block up every sense?"-
66 Simple is the course I steer,
Shut both eyes, and my sound ear,

Ireland, thy fair soul doth raise,
Be it spoken to thy praise,
Many a well-bred manly lad;
But good things spoilt are worse than bad.
Lo, by each Cork packet, come
Fresh disgorgements of thy scum,
Redshanks,† stalkoes, and squireens,
Tory-rories, and buckeens;
Terry, Teddy, Darby, Barny,
Tooligan, O'Flam, O'Blarney,
Run away, some seven in ten,
From the shop-board, or the den
Of some pettifogger venal,
Or the lash of statutes penal,
Flush of little coin, alas!
Save the true Corinthian brass.
Still blockading fancy-shops,
Ogling slipshod dolly-mops,
Ascertaining tick's extent,
By some bold experiment;
Here they feast, like rooks in stubble,
Snips and landlords while they bubble.
Next, the Vicar and his daughters
Simply come to drink the waters,
And perhaps to meet anew
Former friends just one or two.
He, sedate in modest ease,
Envying no one whom he sees,
Looking round him like a friend,
Seeing little to commend,
Yet content with all that passes;
They, fine laughing country lasses,
Full of questions to their brothers,
Pleased, and therefore pleasing others;

• See the unwritten laws of the Y-k H-e Club, an institution rivalling the Stock Exchange in the accuracy of its calculations, and its knowledge of the money-market.

No doubt, Christopher, these pleasing Milesian varieties are familiar to your ears. If not, ODoherty will, I dare say, add a note explanatory.

A celebrated Bath surgeon.
VOL. XVII.

C

To this empty show and chatter; My advice won't mend the matter. Double, double, toil and trouble, Don't crusade to crush a bubble."

Now, their toilet quite complete, Figg'd and rigg'd from head to feet, Forth to join the bustling throng Saunters many a vieux garçon; Greybeard Billies, tottering Jackies, Furbish'd up by careful lacqueys. By the palsy-shaken noddle,

Hat on one side gaily stuck, Cock-ey'd leer, and swaggering toddle, Of each patriarchal buck, Momus marks them for his food, At the distance of a rood.

Come, time wears; by way of change, To the Upper Rooms we'll range, Where yon single yelping fiddle, With its feeble tweedle-diddle, Calls the beau-monde universal To the fancy-ball's rehearsal. Animated by its charms, Sundry bodies, legs, and arms, Jostle with a grave discretion, Fit to grace a state-procession, While their owners' eyes pore hard O'er the well-conn'd figure-card, Needful as didactic aid To the coming night's parade. Weary is the task, I wot, But the proud hope, ne'er forgot, Of distinction and display, Charms incipient yawns away. Bunbury's "Long Minuet" scarce Could outdo this glorious farce. There, tough elders, with bald head, And bottle-nose bespectacled, Caper light, while others pace, Striving by superfluous grace Time's grim ravages to hide, Cramp and corns alike defied. Dapper Jacky there, the pet Of his lady-cousin set, Moulting jacket for long coat, While his stiff-cravatted throat Swells with its first mannish crow, Threads the maze of dos-a-dos, Glancing with disdainful joy At yon full-grown burly boy, Late his tyrant. He, apart, Knowing no one, with big heart Views the scene of gaiety, Wearing the blank dismal eye Of a great cod out of water; Missing sore his master's daughter, And the undisputed rule Of his little private school. There, new-rigg'd, Squire Richard too Makes at Bath his first debut, From some wild back settlement Near Land's-End, or Dartmoor, sent. Awkward as a callow hern, When his lank supporters learn First to hobble on dry land, With such grace doth Dickon stand, Legs and limbs in posture set, By some waning dandyzette, At whose shrine, his homage rude Pays the debt of gratitude. Shelter'd by her guardian care, He defies the freezing stare Aim'd by boobies more mature, And the frown of Miss demure, Whose torn flounce is doom'd to rue The slips of his unlucky shoe, Or the spur, more ruthless yet, Of the high-heel'd prim cadet, Whose eye, well-train'd by line and

Morning saw them wan and wheezy,
Face unwash'd, forlorn, and queasy,
Unshorn beard, eyes dead and ropy,
Tout ensemble sad and mopy,
Moving as on rusty wires,
To where subterranean fires
Boil the pot of Bath's Hygeia,
Rivalling thy broth, Medea,
In the power, by bards oft sung,
Of cooking up old gentry young.
Thence, like owls obscene, that fly
From Aurora's searching eye,
Through some by-lane home they creep,
Just when belles awake from sleep.
Breakfast and digestive pill
Next discuss'd en dishabille,

With plaster, wash, and fragrant oil,
John begins the Augean toil.
Now their sloven slough quite cast,
See them point-device at last,
Like old yellow dunghill-cocks
Grown too tough for tooth of fox,
Skewer'd and truss'd up for the mart,
By the skilful poulterer's art.
These, with gay and conscious air,
Court the glance of ladies fair,
Vanity not yet firk'd out
By lumbago, bile, and gout,
To the last still feebly jolly,
Closing useless lives in folly.
-Truce to moralizing note ;—
Momus twitches at my coat.
Mark, exclaims the restless imp,
Yon brave old boy, whose very limp
Smacks of gentlemanly ease,
How his air contrasts with these!
With the lark his toilet made,
Always ready for parade,
Counting age no heinous shame
In the eye of lovely dame,
Proudly he the burthen bears,
Wrinkle-stamp'd, of toilsome years
In campaigns or cruizes spent ;
With honour and a chop content,
And his pint, to oil life's hinges;
Still content, save when the pain
Of his lurking gun-shot twinges
Drives him to these springs again.

With new virtues may they bubble,
And assuage the veteran's trouble.

square, Due point-blank alone will bear, Deigning no concern to show In mishaps that chance below.

Lo, anon the master swells
With some score of beaux and belles;
Part ensconced on yonder bench,

Glad of a pretence for flirting,
In North Wilts or Gloucester French;
Part a tedious hour diverting
With the frisks-uncouthly odd-
Of th' aforesaid awkward squad.

Hubble-bubble, hubble-bubble, Pleasure costs a world of trouble.

Peep into yon solemn room As you pass, but don't presume Aught to smile at, or remark; Here no dog must dare to bark : Hush'd be every wicked wit, Where, in awful conclave, sit, Peter Popkin, Simon Coddle, Quidnunc Quackling, Pogy Poddle, With more worthies nine or ten"What, the Mayor and Aldermen, Deep, it seems, in close divan, On grave matters"—

"Bless ye, man, They, good folks, are on th' alert, Wielding lancet, probe, and squirt, Peppering dowagers with pills, Pounding senna, bark, and squills. These, an ancient fish-like race, Quite peculiar to the place, Grave as new-created deans, Are our high-caste mandarins; Men of method, sapient sirs, Call'd by gods, cock-dowagers, And by men profane, tom-tabbies ; Who, despising, as grown babies, All the dandies, old and young, Whom my muse erewhile hath sung, Ponder o'er no meaner things Than the fate of queens and kings, Which, by their sole nod controll'd, In their potent hands they hold." -"Do they never more than talk ?" -"See them in their morning walk, Wrangling with each foul-mouth'd shrew In the market's wide purlieu, Politiques des raves et choux, Cavilling at weights and scales, Sniffing geese and rabbits' tails, In each pigeon-basket paddling, Cheapening, chiding, fiddle-faddling, Hunting maggots in fresh meats, Banning honest folk for cheats, Pests of butter-women's lives, Cursed by butchers, fisher-wives, And the cook they dare not trust: You may stare, the picture's just. These domestic duties done, Here they meet at twelve or one; Settle all affairs of state

In a summary debate;
Easy task to pates so solid!
Then, with looks sublimely stolid,
Their discussions sage resume
On each pasteboard monarch's doom,
Undisturb'd from their still mood,
Save by calls of rest and food.
So Dame Partlet, to whose song
Barn and yard have echo'd long;
Ceasing her eternal cluck,
Sits in one grave posture stuck,
Never leaving once her station
And her task of incubation,
Save perhaps at eve and morn,
Just to pick a barley-corn.
Thus, with rational employment
Blending sociable enjoyment,
(As themselves would wisely say,)
They beguile the live-long day."
Cease we here this slipshod rhyme,
Momus cries again, "Tis time;
Come, the theme's worn out; more low
In the scale you cannot go.-
-Shall not one redeeming word
In the praise of Bath be heard?'
-"Prithee let the subject rest,
Praise is mawkish at the best;
Such ram-cats and dummies none can
Couple with my friend J*** ******.
Grant that these fair walls give birth
To men, like him, of wit and worth,
Frank and courteous, wise and merry,
And sound-hearted as old sherry;
To whom daily works of good
Are familiar as their food.
Let it pass, such names belong
To a sermon, not a song;
Nought have I with such to do;
Grant that Bath can muster too

Circles polish'd and select, Holding all yon motley crew

Just as cheap as I or you; 'Tis but what one might expect ; These, in fact, I often court To enjoy with me the sport Which my Bath preserves, well-stored, To a knowing shot afford. Game's abundant in this place; Still the wandering woodcock race, Whom in swarms each winter brings To these valleys and warm springs, Known by folly and long bills, Well mark'd down, my game-bag fills; Mine the task to trap and scare Native vermin harbouring there,

·

Satyrs, owls, and doleful creatures, Of foul habits and coarse features, Destined still the sport to trouble, Till its waters cease to bubble."

Nearly the whole of the Corporation of Bath are medical men. Vide Win Jenkins's complaint of "The Cuck," who appealed to the protection of "her potticary the mare," on being detected in malpractices. Far be it, however, from us to suspect, that this respectable body would in the present day sacrifice to Esculapius one iota of the interests of Themis, even so far as to weigh rhubarb with her scales, or borrow, to spread plasters, that sword which she brandishes so imposingly over their town

ball.

LETTERS FROM THE VICARAGE.

No. II.

In my former letter I ventured to assert, that ever since the accession of the House of Hanover to the throne of these realms, the Church of England has gradually undermined herself, by yielding to the variable taste of the times in matters where she ought not to have yielded; and by pertinaciously struggling against that taste, when she ought quietly to have given way to it. In proof of the justice of my assertion, I directed the attention of your readers to the actual condition of the English Church, throughout which there appears to be no common bond of union-no rallying point round which her sons can muster, and say, "This is the doctrine which we feel ourselves bound to maintain." Among her lay-members, indeed, it is well known that there are few, if any, who so much as profess to adhere to her communion on other grounds than be cause she forms an essential part of the political constitution of the country, and conducts her public worship in an orderly and decent manner; whilst of her clergy, one half, or perhaps more than one half, can assign no better reason for their personal service at her altar, than that by serving there they obtain a comfortable independence an object which very possibly they might have failed in obtaining, had they sought it in any other walk of life.

This is a sad condition for a spiritual community to be placed in; but the Church of England attained not to it all at once. The singularly loose opinions, or rather the total absence of all fixed principle, which now prevails among her members, has, on the contrary, been the growth, and the progressive growth, of a whole century; and its commencement may, I think, be very easily traced back to the period in our national history to which I have just alluded.

Most of your readers are probably aware, that previous to the reign of George the First, and for some little while after his accession, the Church of England, though as perfectly allied to the state as she is at present, enjoyed the privilege of regulating her own affairs, through the instrumentality of

a synod, or convocation of her clergy. In ancient times many privileges were claimed, and many rights asserted, by that body, the possession of which was clearly incompatible with the political welfare of the commonwealth; such as that no act of parliament should be valid, till it had first of all obtained the sanction of the third estate; and that the clergy should not be liable to taxation, except by a vote of their own representatives. Since the year 1665, however, when the last of these privileges was abandoned, and the clergy obtained, in return, the right of voting at the election of members of the House of Commons, the Convocation claimed no right of interference in state affairs, and filled, up to the moment of its virtual dissolution, the place which every ecclesiastical assembly ought to fill, namely, that of a spiritual body, met together, by permission of the civil magistrate, to investigate affairs purely spiritual, and for no other purpose.

From the year 1665, therefore, up to the hour of its last meeting, the Convocation stood towards the Church of England in exactly the same relation in which the General Assembly now stands towards the Established Church of Scotland. The two bodies mutually represented their respective Churches, and represented them, each after its own peculiar fashion. Thus, whilst the Scottish Kirk, acknowledging no distinctions of rank among her clergy, causes the whole of her delegates to meet under the same roof, and to discuss, with the perfect equality of a popular assembly, such questions as may be brought before them, the Church of England, in accordance with her aristocratic form of government, divided her synod into an Upper and a Lower House. In the Upper House sat the Bishops and Archbishops, by virtue of their office; being to the body at large what the House of Peers is to the Imperial Parliament: whilst in the Lower, the inferior clergy were represented by the Proctors, consisting of all the deans and archdeacons, of one Proctor from every chapter, and of two from the clergy of each diocese. The total number of divines assembled in the Lower House of Convo

cation was thus 148; and they chose their prolocutor as the House of Commons chooses its speaker, to enforce the attendance of members, to regulate the debates, to collect their votes, and carry them to the Upper House.

I have said that the legitimate office of the Convocation was to regulate all such affairs as had reference to the spiritual concerns, and to the spiritual concerns only, of the Church which it represented. By spiritual concerns, I mean those over which the state has no right of direct control, and which it cannot seem directly to control, without falling into the Erastian heresy. Thus, it rests not with the state in any country to determine by what means, or by what authority, the spiritual character shall be conferred upon a layman; neither can the state decree what shall, or what shall not, be an article of faith among its subjects. These are matters, the management of which has been entrusted, by the divine Founder of the Church, to her, and to her alone; nor can she resign them into the hands of the civil ruler, without betraying the trust which He has confided to her.

As long as the Convocation existed, to superintend these, and other similar affairs, was therefore its exclusive business, though its powers were by no means bounded altogether here. In its capacity of representative of the Church, it first exercised a right of deciding such disputes or controversies as might arise among the clergy, whether they related to matters of general faith, or to ecclesiastical discipline only; it took cognizance of all offences against established usages, wheresoever, or by whomsoever, committed; it had the power of revising and correcting, as they might appear to stand in need of revision and correction, all public formularies; it could enact new canons, abolish old ones, remodel, if necessary, the very articles themselves; and, above all, it composed a court of surveillance, to which every public functionary, as well of the Episcopal as of the Presbyterian order, was, to a certain extent, amenable.

All this authority, Convocation, nevertheless, exercised in strict subserviency to the civil power. In return for the advantages which she obtained, by being preferred to the rank of the establishment, the Church of England acknowledged (asevery national church

ought to acknowledge) the supremacy of the Sovereign in every matter, spiritual, as well as temporal; and thence her Synod presumed not to assemble without having previously received a summons from the Crown; nor could any of its resolutions obtain the force of canon law till they had been confirmed by sanction of the royal assent. This was exceedingly proper; it was, indeed, the only method which could be devised to hinder the growth of an imperium in imperio within the nation; for, had the church been permitted to exercise even her legitimate functions, independently of the civil magistrate, an authority would have existed in the state commensurate with his, if not absolutely superior. In like manner, the Church of England has never questioned the right of the civil power to confer temporal dignities or preferments on whomsoever it will. All these she accordingly confesses that she derives from the state; nor has Convocation at any period assumed the privilege of interference in any way, either directly or indirectly, with their disposition. As I have already said, the legitimate powers of Convocation were purely spiritual; they extended only to the cognizance of spiritual affairs; and even over these they were not exercised without the direct sanction and approbation of the chief magistrate.

It has always appeared to me one of the most unaccountable things in the history of British legislation, why a Synod, thus constituted, and thus effectually restrained from interfering with matters which lay not within its province, should have been dissolved; for the continual prorogation of the body virtually amounts to an utter dissolution. There is surely no good political reason to be assigned for it; whilst there are many ecclesiastical reasons, if we may so speak, against it. "It is a great error," says Bishop Warburton, a prelate whom no one will accuse of carrying high-church notions to a faulty extreme," to imagine such assemblies, when legally convened, to be either useless or mischievous. For all Churches, except the Jewish and Christian, being human-policied societies, of the nature of which, even the Christian in part partakes ; and all societies, without exception, being administered by human means, it must needs happen that religious societies,

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