THE PHANTOM CURATE

A Fable

A

BISHOP once I will not name his

see

Annoyed his clergy in the mode conventional; From pulpit-shackles never set them free,

And found a sin where sin was unintentional. All pleasures ended in abuse auricular The Bishop was so terribly particular.

Though on the whole a wise and upright man, He sought to make of human pleasures clear

ances;

And form his priests on that much-lauded plan
Which pays
undue attention to appearances.
He could n't do good deeds without a psalm

in 'em,

Although, in truth, he bore away the palm in

'em.

Enraged to find a deacon at a dance,

Or catch a curate at some mild frivolity, He sought by open censure to enhance

Their dread of joining harmless social jollity.

Yet he enjoyed (a fact of notoriety)
The ordinary pleasures of society.

One evening, sitting at a pantomime,

(Forbidden treat to those who stood in fear of him),

Roaring at jokes, sans metre, sense, or rhyme,

He turned and saw immediately in rear of him, His peace of mind upsetting, and annoying it, A curate, also heartily enjoying it.

Again, 't was Christmas Eve, and to enhance His children's pleasure in their harmless rollicking,

He, like a good old fellow, stood to dance, When something checked the current of his frolicking;

That curate, with a maid he treated lover-ly, Stood up and figured with him in the "Coverley !"

Once, yielding to an universal choice

(The company's demand was an emphatic one, For the old Bishop had a glorious voice),

In a quartet he joined an operatic one. Harmless enough, though ne'er a word of grace

in it,

When, lo! that curate came and took the bass in it!

One day, when passing through a quiet street, He stopped awhile and joined a Punch's gathering;

And chuckled more than solemn folk think meet, To see that gentleman his Judy lathering;

And heard, as Punch was being treated penally, That phantom-curate laughing all hyænally.

Now at a picnic, 'mid fair golden curls, Bright eyes, straw hats, bottines that fit amazingly :

A croquet-bout is planned by all the girls; And he, consenting, speaks of croquet praisingly.

But suddenly declines to play at all in it
The curate-fiend has come to take a ball in it!

Next, when at quiet seaside village, freed

From cares episcopal and ties monarchical, He grows his beard, and smokes his fragrant weed,

In manner anything but hierarchical

He sees and fixes an unearthy stare on it

That curate's face, with half a yard of hair on it!

At length he gave a charge, and spake this word, "Vicars, your curates to enjoyment urge ye may;

To check their harmless pleasuring 's absurd; What laymen do without reproach, my clergy may."

He spake, and lo! at this concluding word of him, The curate vanished no one since has heard of him.

N

O nobler captain ever trod

Than CAPTAIN PARKLEBURY TODD,

So good.

so wise

so brave, he!

But still, as all his friends would own,

He had one folly

This captain in the Navy.

I do not think I ever knew
A man so wholly given to
Creating a sensation :

Or p'r'aps I should in justice say
To what in an Adelphi play
Is known as "Situation.

He passed his time designing traps
To flurry unsuspicious chaps.

The taste was his innately
He could n't walk into a room
Without ejaculating "Boom!"
Which startled ladies greatly.

He'd wear a mask and muffling cloak,
Not, you will understand, in joke,