The hour in which the former was called to answer for the crime, struck in 1774. Paul was then residing in Henrietta-street, Covent-garden; and, when he felt the hand of the Inevitable upon him, he burned all his erotic and infidel poetry, as if _that_ could hide his sins from the eye of his Judge. He added to this the heathenish folly of bequeathing his heart to Lord le Despenser. That exemplary nobleman accepted the legacy; and the precious bequest, solemnly inurned, was pompously borne to West Wycombe Church, attended by a procession of minstrels, singers, and admiring friends. As to the quality of the clergy present, it may be judged of by the fact that they stood unprotestingly by while the vocalists, engaged by the Medenham apostles, sang, with rapt expression, the following strophe:— “From earth to heaven Whitehead’s soul is fled; Refulgent glories beam about his head; His Muse, concording with resounding strings, Gives angels words to praise the King of Kings.” When such things were sung of a Medenham apostle, in presence of an unprotesting clergy, we need not wonder that there were a few serious men, with a certain John Wesley at the head of them, anxiously seeking for a “method” to remedy the enormous evils of the times. We perhaps have deferred too long to notice the establishment of which such men as Stow and Speed were members, and which has furnished many a scholar or gallant gentleman to illustrate arts or arms. Let us then say a word of honoured “Merchant Tailors’.” MEMS. OF “MERCHANT TAILORS.” “My heart is yours, And you shall see it spring, and shoot forth leaves Worthy your eye; and the oppressed sap Ascend to ev’ry part, to make it green And pay your love with fruit, when harvest comes.” LOVE TRICKS, _by Shirley, a pupil of M. T._ I regret to say it, but the Rev. H. B. Wilson, the reverend author of that half-hundredweight quarto which gives the history of the Merchant Tailors, and which the author hoped would find its way into our villages, is ashamed of the origin of his heroes. He has even enough of false pride to beg that writers will spell Merchant Ta_y_lors with a _y_, and not with an _i_! Tailors with an _i_, he says, may be mistaken for a trade; while Taylors with a _y_ may be taken for a name! So was Sir Piercie Shafton ever blushing at the idea of his father’s calling; and so do the Smiths with an _i_, fancy that they glide into gentility and euphony by becoming Smyths with a _y_.