Part 234 (1/2)

FOOLS' PARADISE.

DREAM THE FIRST.

I have been, like Puck, I have been, in a trice, To a realm they call Fool's Paradise, Lying N.N.E. of the Land of Sense, And seldom blest with a glimmer thence.

But they wanted not in this happy place, Where a light of its own gilds every face; Or if some wear a shadowy brow, 'Tis the _wish_ to look wise,--not knowing _how_.

Self-glory glistens o'er all that's there, The trees, the flowers have a jaunty air; The well-bred wind in a whisper blows, The snow, if it snows, is _couleur de rose_, The falling founts in a t.i.tter fall, And the sun looks simpering down on all.

Oh, 'tisn't in tongue or pen to trace The scenes I saw in that joyous place.

There were Lords and Ladies sitting together, In converse sweet, ”What charming weather!-- ”You'll all rejoice to hear, I'm sure, ”Lord Charles has got a good sinecure; ”And the Premier says, my youngest brother ”(Him in the Guards) shall have another.

”Isn?t this very, _very_ gallant!-- ”As for my poor old virgin aunt, ”Who has lost her all, poor thing, at whist, ”We must quarter _her_ on the Pension List.”

Thus smoothly time in that Eden rolled; It seemed like an Age of _real_ gold, Where all who liked might have a slice, So rich was that Fools' Paradise.

But the sport at which most time they spent, Was a puppet-show, called Parliament Performed by wooden Ciceros, As large as life, who rose to prose, While, hid behind them, lords and squires, Who owned the puppets, pulled the wires; And thought it the very best device Of that most prosperous Paradise, To make the vulgar pay thro' the nose For them and their wooden Ciceros.

And many more such things I saw In this Eden of Church and State and Law; Nor e'er were known such pleasant folk As those who had the _best_ of the joke.

There were Irish Rectors, such as resort To Cheltenham yearly, to drink--port, And b.u.mper, ”Long may the Church endure, ”May her cure of souls be a sinecure, ”And a score of Parsons to every soul ”A moderate allowance on the whole.”

There were Heads of Colleges lying about, From which the sense had all run out, Even to the lowest cla.s.sic lees, Till nothing was left but _quant.i.ties_; Which made them heads most fit to be Stuck up on a University, Which yearly hatches, in its schools, Such flights of young Elysian fools.

Thus all went on, so snug and nice, In this happiest possible Paradise.

But plain it was to see, alas!

That a downfall soon must come to pa.s.s.

For grief is a lot the good and wise Don?t quite so much monopolize, But that (”lapt in Elysium” as they are) Even blessed fools must have their share.

And so it happened:--but what befell, In Dream the Second I mean to tell.

THE RECTOR AND HIS CURATE;

OR, ONE POUND TWO.

”I trust we shall part as we met, in peace and charity. My last payment to you paid your salary up to the 1st of this month. Since that, I owe you for one month, which, being a long month, of thirty-one days, amounts, as near as I can calculate, to six pounds eight s.h.i.+llings. My steward returns you as a debtor to the amount of SEVEN POUNDS TEN s.h.i.+LLINGS FOR c.o.x-ACRE-GROUND, which leaves some trifling balance in my favor.”--_Letter of Dismissal from the Rev.

Marcus Beresford to his Curate, the Rev. T. A. Lyons_.

The account is balanced--the bill drawn out,-- The debit and credit all right, no doubt-- The Rector rolling in wealth and state, Owes to his Curate six pound eight; The Curate, that _least_ well-fed of men, Owes to his Rector seven pound ten, Which maketh the balance clearly due From Curate to Rector, one pound two.

Ah balance, on earth unfair, uneven!