_Ninthly._ Because we have not been told by _Wood_, _Philips_, _Richardson_, _Toland_, etc., that Nature, among her other partialities to MILTON, had indulged him with an uncommon share of teeth. And yet above a hundred have been sold as the furniture of his mouth by the conscientious worthies who assisted in the plunder of his supposed carcase, and finally submitted it to every insult that brutal vulgarity could devise and express. Thanks to fortune, however, his corpse has hitherto been violated but by proxy! May his genuine reliques (if aught of him remains unmingled with common earth) continue to elude research, at least while the present overseers of the poor of Cripplegate are in office. Hard, indeed, would have been the fate of the author of ‘Paradise Lost’ to have received shelter in a chancel, that a hundred and sixteen years after his interment his _domus ultima_ might be ransacked by two of the lowest human beings, a retailer of spirituous liquors, and a man who lends sixpences to beggars on such despicable securities as tattered bed-gowns, cankered porridge-pots, and rusty gridirons.[22] _Cape saxa manu, cape robora, pastor!_ But an Ecclesiastical Court may yet have cognisance of this more than savage transaction. It will then be determined whether our tombs are our own, or may be robbed with impunity by the little tyrants of a workhouse. ‘If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send Those that we bury back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites.’ It should be added that our Pawnbroker, Gin-seller, and Company, by deranging the contents of their ideal MILTON’S coffin, by carrying away his lower jaw, ribs, and right hand--and by employing one bone as an instrument to batter the rest--by tearing the shroud and winding-sheet to pieces, &c., &c., had annihilated all such further evidence as might have been collected from a skilful and complete examination of these nameless fragments of mortality. So far, indeed, were they mutilated that, had they been genuine, we could not have said with Horace, ‘Invenies etiam disjecti membra Poetæ.’ Who, after a perusal of the foregoing remarks (which are founded on circumstantial truth), will congratulate the parishioners of St. Giles, Cripplegate, on their discovery and treatment of the imaginary dust of MILTON? His favourite, _Shakespeare_, most fortunately reposes at a secure distance from the paws of Messieurs _Laming_ and _Fountain_, who, otherwise, might have provoked the vengeance imprecated by our great dramatic poet on the remover of his bones.