_conventickles_, and _tickle_ they do sure enough. Even an Englishman with all his prudence, or a Scotchman with all his gravity, but much more, a poor boy from Ireland must give way. For when man and woman meet alone, Mr. Scribble, they are dangerous kind of combustibles: and then there is that faith without works gives such encouragement. Its all as one as if I was to live as I pleased at an ale-house, and tell the landlord I believe you to be a very good sort of a man. He, every time I ran up a score, would take a wet cloth and wash the chalk. By Jasus he would not want customers. Now, sir, as you appear to be a man of great sense, I wish to consult you on a point of conscience and _sacrecy_. You see, sir, to confess the truth, my wife, the large fat lady with the red hair, that _set_ opposite to you, is none of the handsomest, and besides, as Louis XV. Emperor of Germany observed, _toger perde_[2], which it seems in their language is, _too much of one thing is enough_. What with the bathing and sea air, and the bracing and one thing or another, and looking at the sweet creatures in the face, I have a great mind to take to the methodism again. I am sure I could be more _populous_ than that light infantry man. If you would speak a good word for me to young Mr. Hamilton, for he rules the roast with the old boy, just to let me have a small excursion while they stay at Brighton, I shall, as in duty bound, both in my sermons and out of them, praise your works.” Scribble having further conversation in the course of the evening with Mr. O’Rourke, concluded that with some training in orthography and grammar, he might be improved into a spiritual writer, for his friend Billy Nincompoop, who it seems would soon want a fresh hand in the divinity branch of the manufacture; and promised to take an early opportunity of further conversing with Mr. O’Rourke. They now adjourned to the meeting of the military saint, who borrowed the quaker rendezvous for that night. This preacher was deemed the best singer of martial songs in the whole regiment; upon the faith of that perfection he acted also as precentor. He got very well through the performance, bating that he once fell into the tune of “The top sail shivers in the wind,” and in endeavouring to get out of it, he got hold of “The black joke.” He however succeeded in pitching his voice for the next stave by humming the serious and melancholy ditty, “There came a ghost to Margaret’s door,” and got at last into a proper strain of psalmody. The discourse had nothing particular in it to distinguish it from any other methodist sermon, consisting merely of cant, mysticism, soft love imagery, melodious inanity, chequered with the terrible pictures of the punishment of unbelievers, when in possession of the devil. The sermon included a very particular detail of roasting in hell-fire, which, next to the amorous parts, gave the highest satisfaction to the devotees. Towards the end of his