All of ’em bargain for a loud “voice:” you’d think, grandmother, the advertisements were for chorus-singers and not clergymen. And, grandmother, can you tell me what “a _moderate_ High Church view” is? Is it moderate virtue--moderate honesty--moderate _truth_? Pray, tell me. Another advertiser wants “a pious and active curate,” who will double his duty with “the tuition of the incumbent’s sons.” That incumbent has a good eye for a good pennyworth, depend upon it. At Bishops Lydeard a curate is tempted with “a neat little cottage,” and “_almost_ certainly the chaplaincy of an adjoining union,” with “other considerations” (what can _they_ be, grandmother?) which will make the salary “equivalent to £100 per annum.” And for this he must be orthodox and married. Another curate is wanted in a “small parish in Berks,” where “the duty is very light.” What would the apostles have said to such an offer? A beneficed clergyman advertising from Camberwell, wishes for duty “in some agricultural and _picturesque part_ of the north of England.” A picturesque part! You see, it isn’t every one who would like to preach in the wilderness. Another curate required in Nottinghamshire: salary, £100 per annum. He must have the highest references for “gentlemanly manners,” _as_ “the vicar is resident.” I suppose if the vicar was away, a second or third rate style would do well enough for the parishioners. However, you’ll be glad to learn that several of the advertisers profess to be “void of Tractarianism and _other_ novelties.” Just in the same way as they write up somewhere in Piccadilly, “The original brown bear.” Another clergyman “is desirous of meeting with an early appointment in town;” and, grandmother, you may judge of the lengths this gentleman will go to preach Christianity and save human souls, when he adds, “No objection to the Surrey side.” Isn’t this good of him? Because, you know, grandmother, the opera, and the clubhouses, and the divans, and so forth, are none of ’em on the Surrey side. To be sure, there’s the Victoria and Astley’s--but they’re low. Now, grandmother, don’t all these advertisements smell a little too much of trade--don’t they, for your notions of the right thing, jingle a little too much with gold and silver? As I’m an honest cabman, though I knew I was reading all about the Church and her pious sons, yet somehow the advertisements did put me in mind of “Rowland’s Macassar,” “Mechi’s Magic Strops,” and “Good stout Cobs to be disposed of.” I am, dear grandmother, your affectionate grandson, JUNIPER HEDGEHOG. _P.S._--I open my letter to tell you that the Bishop of Exeter has broken out again. A Mr Blunt of Helston _will_ wear the surplice; and the Bishop, like a bottle-holder at a fight, backs him in his doings. Do have more prayers put up for the Bishop. LETTER X.--_To Samuel Hedgehog, Galantee Showman, Ratcliffe Highway._