All the Whigs, after the death of King William, drank not to his health, but to his memory. A Tory named Brown, bishop of Cork in Ireland, a great enemy to William in Ireland, said, "that he would put a _cork_ in all those bottles which were drunk to the glory of this monarch." He did not stop at this silly pun; he wrote, in 1702, an episcopal address to show the Irish that it was an atrocious impiety to drink to the health of kings, and, above all, to their memory; that the latter, in particular, is a profanation of these words of Jesus Christ: "Drink this in remembrance of me." It is astonishing that this bishop was not the first who conceived such a folly. Before him, the Presbyterian Prynne had written a great book against the impious custom of drinking to the health of Christians. Finally, there was one John Geza, vicar of the parish of St. Faith, who published "The Divine Potion to Preserve Spiritual Health, by the Cure of the Inveterate Malady of Drinking Healths; with Clear and Solid Arguments against this Criminal Custom, all for the Satisfaction of the Public, at the Request of a Worthy Member of Parliament, in the Year of Our Salvation 1648." Our reverend Father Garasse, our reverend Father Patouillet, and our reverend Father Nonnotte are nothing superior to these profound Englishmen. We have a long time wrestled with our neighbors for the superiority--To which is it due? THE DRUIDS. _The Scene is in Tartarus. The Furies Entwined with Serpents, and Whips in Their Hands._ Come along, Barbaquincorix, Celtic druid, and thou, detestable Grecian hierophant, Calchas, the moment of your just punishment has returned again; the hour of vengeance has arrived--the bell has sounded! THE DRUID AND CALCHAS. Oh, heavens! my head, my sides, my eyes, my ears! pardon, ladies, pardon! CALCHAS. Mercy! two vipers are penetrating my eye-balls! DRUID. A serpent is devouring my entrails! CALCHAS. Alas, how am I mangled! And must my eyes be every day restored, to be torn again from my head? DRUID. Must my skin be renewed only to dangle in ribbons from my lacerated body? TISIPHONE. It will teach you how to palm off a miserable parasitical plant for a universal remedy another time. Will you still sacrifice boys and girls to your god Theutates, priest? still burn them in osier baskets to the sound of a drum? DRUID. Never, never; dear lady, a little mercy, I beseech you. TISIPHONE. You never had any yourself. Seize him, serpents, and now another lash! ALECTO. Let them curry well this Calchas, who advances towards us, "With cruel eye, dark mien, and bristled hair." CALCHAS. My hair is torn away; I am scorched, flayed, impaled! ALECTO. Wretch! Will you again cut the throat of a beautiful girl, in order to obtain a favorable gale, instead of uniting her to a good husband? CALCHAS AND THE DRUID. Oh, what torments! and yet we die not. TISIPHONE.