to the funds of the Parish in question.  At the present time, as we all know, although there are doubtless plenty of heretics, it has ceased to be the custom to burn them, so the bequest cannot be applied in accordance with the wishes of the pious founder.  The important question therefore arises, how should the bequest be applied?  Would it be believed that men are to be found, and men having authority, more’s the pity, who can recommend its application to the education of the poor, to the providing of convalescent hospitals, or even the preservation of open spaces for the healthful enjoyment of the masses of the Metropolis!  Yet such is the sad fact.  My Vestry, I am proud to say, are unanimously of opinion that, in such a case as I have described, common sense and common justice would dictate that, as the intentions of the pious founder cannot be applied to the punishment of vice, it should be devoted to the reward of virtue, and this would be best accomplished by expending the fund in question in an annual banquet to those Vestrymen who attended the most assiduously to the arduous duties of their important office.  JOSEPH GREENHORN.

* * * * *

ANOTHER TERC-ISH ATROCITY.

(BY A SCEPTICAL SUFFERER.)

    [An Austrian physician, Dr. TERC, prescribes bee-stings as a
    cure for rheumatism!]

  How cloth the little Busy Bee
    Insert his poisoned stings,
  And kill the keen rheumatic pain
    That mortal muscle wrings!

  Great Scott!  It sounds so like a sell! 
    Bee-stings for rheumatiz? 
  As well try wasps to make one well. 
    That TERC must be a quiz.

  Rather would I rheumatics bear
    Than try the Busy Bee. 
  No, Austrian TERC, your cure may work! 
    But won’t he tried on me!

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[Illustration]

“IL IRA LOIN.”—­Great day for England in general, and for London in particular, when AUGUSTUS GLOSSOP HARRIS,—­the “Gloss-op"-portunely appears nothing without the gloss up-on him,—­popularly known by the title of AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS, rode to the Embankment with his trumpeters,—­it being infra dig. to be seen blowing one himself,—­with his beautiful banners, and his footmen all in State liveries designed by LEWIS LE GRAND WINGFIELD, he himself (DRURIOLANUS, not LEWIS LE GRAND) being seated in his gorgeous new carriage; Sheriff FARMER, too, equally gorgeous, and equally new, but neither so grand nor so great as DRURIOLANUS The Magnificent.  Then followed “the quaint ceremony of admission.”  Not “Free Admission,” by any means, for no man can be a Sheriff of London for nothing.  There were loud cheers, and a big Lunch. Ave Caesar!

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