Now Patty, softest of thy sex, Let love’s sweet power prevail.” And here the divine hummed the tune. “but we shall have it at the love-feast in the evening. But to return to what we was speaking of: Heaven is as romantic and charming as--now there is some very fine prospects not far from this very place, that some of you may know, that will give some idea of the face of the country in Heaven. There is Malvern wells; this same valley of Evesham; but Clifton and King’s Weston gives them the go-by, though I must say the Avon is rather muddy. Ah, God help you; it is not like our clear Irish streams. Our Bannar for instance; my little Ophelia has a very good song about that too, which shall be forth-coming at the love-lectures: but Heaven is most like the lake of Killarney. There will be also no want of music in Heaven; and, I do suppose, it will be different according to different tastes. For myself, I think the choicest instrument is the Irish bag-pipe; and should Courtenay be gone there, we cannot have a better hand; I shall find him out, he is a sweet countryman of my own. I forgot to say one article in the eating way, there will be the choicest fruits, especially potatoes. Now having described Heaven, it may be as well to say a few words about hell, although, it being no very agreeable subject, I shall not be after taking up much of your time. But you that are making faces there, what are you about? is it mocking me you are? be _asy_ now. I have a shillelah now, and a good tough bit of a swich it is. Ay, you will do now, so I shall go on to describe hell; with which, unless you will follow my counsel, you, Mr. Smirker, will be better acquainted some day or other. It is a hideous kind of a place, like the coal-pits of Staffordshire, or to come nearer the point, like the great cavern in the Devil’s own premises; there is a great furnace, just like the glass-houses, where unbelievers are roasted, all as one as pigs, in the great cook-shops, as you pass through Porrige Island; and as they are alive all the time, they must be in a pretty kind of a combustion. There is a serjeant’s guard of devils over every fire. Now Heaven and hell, you may perhaps _persave_, are different kind of accommodations; and certainly, every man that has his _seven_ senses about him must see, that the one is a much better kind of a lodgment than the other; but as our play said last night, ‘any fool knows that.’ The next question is, how are we to get to Heaven? We are the boys to direct you; your parsons, and your bishops, and them kind of people, will tell you long rigmarole stories about practising virtue and morality, as they call it; that is a very troublesome kind of way, and a great restraint upon a poor fellow, and up-hill work. But we that follows the true doctrines, myself among many others, gets you a _short cut_, all easy and down-hill, all that you have to do is to believe.--What? you will say; why what