But at this present writing, it isn’t all over in the city of Exeter. The Bishop, having had his fling, one of his journeymen, the Rev. Mr Courtenay, minister of St Sidwell’s, comes in for a little more than his share of the performance. Don’t think I’m profane, dear grandmother--no, quite the reverse. But you _have_ in your time been to Astley’s, and seen the riding in the ring. Well, the principal rider comes, and does all manner of wonders whilst cantering and galloping, and going all kind of paces. When he’s done, he makes his bow and goes off. And then after him comes the clown. Well, he’s determined to outdo all that’s been done before him, and for this purpose goes on with all sorts of manœuvres. Now the Bishop of Exeter has made his bow, and the Rev. Mr Courtenay is, at the time I write, before the public. He _will_ preach in a surplice; and that he may do so with safety--for all the folks in Exeter are in a pretty pucker about it--he goes to and from church, as I may say, in the bosom of the police. Oh dear! isn’t it sad work, grandmother? this noise about black and white gowns, when Churchmen ought to think of nothing but black and white souls? Black and white! as if there was a pattern-book of colours for heaven! However, how it will end nobody knows; but if the matter goes on as it promises, it is thought the Rev. Mr Courtenay will call to his aid the yeomanry, and be escorted to St Sidwell’s by a body-guard armed with ball-cartridge. It is said he has bespoken two howitzers to keep off the mob from the church doors. I’ve hardly time to save the packet; so remain, your affectionate grandson, JUNIPER HEDGEHOG. _P.S._--They do say that Mr Courtenay wants to be made a martyr of. But the days for burning are all gone by. Besides, other folks declare that the parson of St Sidwell’s would have been too green to burn at any time. LETTER IV.--_To Michael Hedgehog, at Hong-Kong._ DEAR MICHAEL,--When you quitted England, in the Hong-Kong division of police, I promised to write you all the news I could; at least, such news as I knew you’d like. The crimes and evils of population were, I know, always a favourite matter with you. I’m sorry to say the evil’s getting worse every day; and no wonder. You’ll hardly believe it, Michael, seeing what a surplus of pauper flesh and blood respectable people have upon their hands, that there’s a set of ignoramuses who absolutely offer a premium for babies; for all the world, as they give away gold and silver medals for prize pigs. I take the bit of news I send you from the _Times_. You must know that a few weeks ago a “Mrs Clements of 21 Hunt Street, Mile-end, Newtown,” had at once “three children, two girls and a boy,” all, too, impudent enough to live. Well, the _Times_ published an account of the misdemeanour, and--would you believe it?--some “generous individuals,” as they are stupidly called, sent, among ’em, £38 for the mother and little ones.