You’ll be sorry to hear, grandmother, that your pets, the bishops, are again in trouble. I’m sure of it, bishops were never intended to have anything to do with money: they always tumble into such mistakes whenever they touch it. How is it to be expected that they should know the mystery of pounds, shillings, and pence,--they who can’t abide earthly vanities--they who are always above this world, though they never go up, as I hear, with Mr Green in his balloon? Well, it seems that the bishops have had a mint of money put into their hands that they may build new churches for their fellow-sinners, whom they call spiritually destitute. Well, would you think it?--in a moment of strange forgetfulness, they’ve laid out so much money upon palaces for themselves, that they can’t build the proper number of churches for the poor? The bishops have taken care of the bishops--and for the spiritually destitute, why, they may worship in highways and byways, in fields and on commons. Of course the bishops never meant this. No; it has all come about from their knowing nothing of the value of money. Still, what’s called the lower orders won’t believe this. And isn’t it a shocking thing to consider that the poor man may look at Bishop So-and-so with a grudge in his eye, saying to himself, “Yes, you’ve built yourself a fine house--you’ve got your fine cedars, and all that King Solomon talks about, in your own palace; but where’s my sittings in the church?--where, bishop, is my bench in the middle aisle?” This is so dreadful to think of, that I can’t write any further upon it--and so no more from your affectionate grandson, JUNIPER HEDGEHOG. LETTER XXI.--_To Sir J. B. Tyrell, Bart., M.P. for North Essex._ SIR,--As I consider every gentleman that I have had the pleasure, or the honour, or the ill-luck as it may be, of driving, a sort of acquaintance--for where money passes, it in a manner binds men--I make no difficulty in sending you these few lines. You have been dining with the Conservative Maldon True Blue Club. True Blue, I suppose, means heaven’s blue--that is, blue as true as heaven. All the speeches were printed in the _Essex Standard_, and afterwards, where I saw ’em, in the _Morning Post_. Your speech, Sir James, or Sir John (for, upon my life, I forget which it is, so I’ll call you Sir James upon chance)--your speech drenched me, as a Christian cabman, quite over. You rose to drink the health of the Duke of Wellington. Well, I don’t object to that. But, I’m sure of it,--never once thinking of your Testament, you went on in this manner--and mind, it was only just _after_ dinner-- “It had been said of the noble Duke, that he was _not only_ the conqueror of Bonaparte--_but the greatest man_ SINCE THE TIME OF THE SAVIOUR!”