Have you got more to say ?”—“No!”—“If } (I've seen a something like it in the skies

Which stirr'd with its electric qualities
Clouds farther off than we can understand,
Although we find him sometimes in our But take your choice); and then it grew

Makes me regret whate'er you do amiss-Sir," replied Michael, "you mistake: these

things

Are of a former life, and what we do Above is more august; to judge of kings Is the tribunal met; so now you know." hell"Then I presume those gentlemen with wings,"

Why, my dear Lucifer, would you abuse My call for witnesses? I did not mean That you should half of earth and produce; 'Tis even superfluous, since two honest, Said Wilkes, “are cherubs; and that soul

clean,

True testimonies are enough: we lose
Our time, nay, our eternity, between
The accusation and defence: if we
Hear both, 'twill stretch our immortality."

Satan replied, "To me the matter is
Indifferent, in a personal point of view:
I can have fifty better souls than this
With far less trouble than we have gone
through

Already; and I merely argued his
Late Majesty of Britain's case with you
Upon a point of form: you may dispose
Of him; I've kings enough below, God
knows!"

below

Looks much like George the Third; but to my mind

A good deal older-Bless me! is he blind?”

"He is what you behold him, and his doom
Depends upon his deeds," the Angel said.
"If you have aught to arraign in him, the
tomb

Gives license to the humblest beggar's head
To lift itself against the loftiest."—"Some,"
Said Wilkes, "don't wait to see them laid
in lead,

For such a liberty-and I, for one,
Have told them what I thought beneath
the sun."

Thus spoke the Demon (late call'd “multi- | “Above the sun repeat, then, what thou hast To urge against him," said the Archangel. "Why,"

faced"
By multo-scribbling Southey). "Then we'll
call

One or two persons of the myriads placed
Around our congress, and dispense with all

Replied the Spirit, "since old scores are past,

Must I turn evidence? In faith, not I.

Besides, I beat him hollow at the last,
With all his Lords and Commons: in the sky
I don't like ripping up old stories, since
His conduct was but natural in a prince.

Foolish, no doubt, and wicked, to oppress
A poor unlucky devil without a shilling;
But then I blame the man himself much less
Than Bute and Grafton, and shall be
unwilling

To see him punish'd here for their excess,
Since they were both damn'd long ago, and
still in

Their place below; for me, I have forgiven,
And vote his "habeas corpus" into heaven."

"Wilkes," said the Devil, "I understand
all this;

You turp'd to half a courtier ere you died,
And seem to think it would not be amiss
To grow a whole one on the other side
Of Charon's ferry; you forget that his
Reign is concluded; whatsoe'er betide,
He won't be sovereign more: you've lost
your labour,

For at the best he will but be your neighbour.

However, I knew what to think of it,
When I beheld you, in your jesting way,
Flitting and whispering round about the spit
Where Belial, upon duty for the day,
With Fox's lard was basting William Pitt,
His pupil; I knew what to think, I say:
That fellow even in hell breeds farther ills;
I'll have him gagg'd—'twas one of his own
bills.

Call Junius!" From the crowd a Shadow
stalk'd,

And at the name there was a general squeeze,
So that the very ghosts no longer walk'd
In comfort, at their own aërial case,
But were all ramm'd, and jamm'd (but to
be balk'd,
As we shall see) and jostled hands and
knees,
Like wind compress'd and pent within a
bladder,

Or like a human cholic, which is sadder.

The Shadow came! a tall, thin, gray-hair'd

figure,

I've an hypothesis-'tis quite my own;
I never let it out till now, for fear
Of doing people harm about the throne,
And injuring some minister or peer
On whom the stigma might perhaps be
blown;

That look'd as it had been a shade on earth;
Quick in its motions, with an air of vigour, It is my gentle public, lend thine ear!
But nought to mark its breeding or its birth: "Tis, that what Junius we are wont to call,
Now it wax'd little, then again grew bigger, Was really, truly, nobody at all.
With now an air of gloom, or savage mirth;

But as you gazed upon its features, they

Changed every instant-to what, none could I don't see wherefore letters should not be Written without hands, since we daily view

say.

Them written without heads; and books But to the point: while hovering o'er the brink

A cry for room, though not a phantom stirr'd. Now the Bard, glad to get an audience, which By no means often was his case below, Began to cough, and hawk, and hem, and pitch

throng,

A general bustle spread throughout the | And then against them, bitterer than ever;
For pantisocracy he once had cried
Aloud, a scheme less moral than 'twas clever,
Then grew a hearty anti-jacobin-
Had turn'd his coat-and would have turn'd
his skin.

Which seem'd to hold all verse in detestation;
The angels had of course enough of song
When upon service; and the generation
Of ghosts had heard too much in life,not long
Before, to profit by a new occasion;
The Monarch, mute till then, exclaim'd
"What! what!

Pye come again? No more—no more of that!"

He had sung against all battles, and again
In their high praise and glory; he had call'd
Reviewing "the ungentle craft," and then
Become as base a critic as e'er crawl'd-
Fed, paid, and pamper'd by the very men
By whom his muse and morals had been
maul'd:
and

He had written much blank verse,
blanker prose,
And more of both than any body knows.

He had written Wesley's life:-here, turn-
ing round
To Satan, "Sir, I'm ready to write yours,
In two octavo volumes, nicely bound,
With notes and preface, all that most allures
The pious purchaser; and there's no ground
For fear, for I can choose my own reviewers:
So let me have the proper documents,
That I may add you to my other saints."

Satan bow'd, and was silent. "Well, if you,
With amiable modesty, decline
My offer, what says Michael? There are few
Whose memoirs could be render'd more
divine.

Mine is a-pen of all work; not so new
As it was once, but I would make you shine
Like your own trumpet; by the way, my own
Has more of brass in it, and is as well blown.

But talking about trumpets, here's my
Vision!

Now you shall judge, all people; yes, you
shall

Judge with my judgment! and by my
decision

Be guided who shall enter heaven or fall!
I settle all these things by intuition,
Times present, past, to come, heaven, hell,
and all,
Like King Alfonso! When I thus see double,
I save the Deity some worlds of trouble."

He ceased, and drew forth an MS.; and no
Persuasion on the part of devils, or saints,
Or angels, now could stop the torrent; so
He read the first three lines of the contents;
But at the fourth, the whole spiritual show
Had vanish'd with variety of scents,
Ambrosial and sulphureous, as they sprang,
Like lightning, off from his "melodious
twang."