But even he is better than his neighbour, who, we find Forgetting that his Master was all merciful and kind! And who when ’mongst the magistrates he proudly sits enshrined, To stern and harsh severity’s persistently inclined, Like a modern J.P. Vicar, one of the present time. He preaches charity, and bids all men forgive their foes, And yet, when on the bench next day, no sign of mercy shows; But far beyond the lay J.P.’s most eagerly he goes, To crushing sentences inflict, and cruel fines impose; Like a modern J.P. Vicar, one of the present time! The parish next to his as priest an Honourable can claim, Who that fat living holds because he bears his father’s name; And who, the simple truth to tell, a clergyman became, Because too mentally obtuse to otherwise win fame; Like the high-born modern Vicar, one of the present time! Lawn-tennis is the only thing on which he seems intent, And he each week for half-a-crown from town has sermons sent―― That is, when at the vicarage, a rather rare event, For at his father’s London house his time is mostly spent, Like a high-born modern Vicar, one of the present time! * * * * * Just now, these very varied types at least in this agree: They think their snug emoluments in jeopardy may be; And rushing to the danger meet, which though far off they see, They make their long-neglected flocks the pretext for their plea, Like self-interested Vicars, all of the present time! Be they Broad Church, or be they High, or Narrow they, or Low, They all unite to hold their own against the common foe; Their hearts ’twould seem, with one desire, with one high impulse glow, Which animates the sermons which from all Church pulpits flow, From these much-excited Vicars, all of the present time! * * * * * Too late is their anxiety the Church may long endure, In order that the masses may its services secure. Too late have come these loud appeals for mercy for the poor, From those whose one chief aim has been to make their own pay sure, As grasping English Vicars, all of the present time! * * * * * (_Seven verses omitted._) _Truth._ November 5, 1885. ――――:o:―――― MY NELLIE’S BLUE EYES. My Nellie’s eyes are blue, Hair of bright and golden hue, Like her eyes, her heart is true, My Nellie my own! Never reigned a queen more fair, Who with Nellie could compare, By her side my life I’d share, My Nellie my own! Ne’er was culled from nature’s bower Half so sweet or rare a flower―― With my Nellie hour by hour, My Nellie my own!