The magistrates—­(would we knew their names, we would hang them up in the highways like the golden bracelets of yore)—­who have made John Jones religious through his pocket, are men of comprehensive genius.  There is no wickedness that they would not make profitable to the Church.  Hence, it appears from Lord BROUGHAM’S speech that John Jones “was guilty of other excesses, and had been sent to prison for a violation of that dormant—­he wished he could say of it obsolete—­law!” There being “other excesses” for which, it appears, there is no statute remedy, the magistrates commit a piece of pious injustice, and lump sundry laical sins into the one crime against the Church. John Jones,—­for who shall conceive the profanity of man?—­may have called one of these magistrates “goose” or “jackass;” and the offence against the justice is a contempt of the parson.  After this, can the race of John Joneses fail to venerate Christianity as recommended by the Bench?

We have a great admiration of English Law, yet in the present instance, we think she shares very unjustly with Mother Church.  For instance, Church in its meekness, says to John Jones, “You come not to my house on Sunday:  pay a shilling.” John Jones refuses.  “What!” exclaims Law—­“refuse the modest request of my pious sister?  Refuse to give her a little shilling!  Give me fourteen.”  Hence, in this Christian country, law is of fourteen times the consequence of religion.

Applauding as we do the efforts of the magistrates quoted by Lord BROUGHAM in the cause of Christianity, we yet conscientiously think their system capable of improvement.  When the Rustic Police shall be properly established, we think they should be empowered to seize upon all suspected non-church goers every Saturday night, keeping them in the station-houses until Sunday morning, and then marching them, securely handcuffed, up the middle aisle of the parish church.  ’Twould be a touching sight for Mr. PLUMPTREE, and such hard-sweating devotees.  For the benefit of old offenders, we would also counsel a little wholesome private whipping in the vestry.

Q.

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PUNCH’S PENCILLINGS.—­No.  XIII.

[Illustration:  MR. SANCHO BULL AND HIS STATE PHYSICIAN.

“Though surrounded with luxuries, the Doctor would not allow Sancho to partake of them, and dismissed each dish as it was brought in by the servants.”—­Vide DON QUIXOTE.]

* * * * *

SWEET AUTUMN DAYS.

  Sweet Autumn days, sweet Autumn days,
    When, harvest o’er, the reaper slumbers,
  How gratefully I hymn your praise,
    In modest but melodious numbers. 
  But if I’m ask’d why ’tis I make
    Autumn the theme of inspiration,
  I’ll tell the truth, and no mistake—­
    With Autumn comes the long vacation. 
  Of falsehoods I’ll not shield me with a tissue—­
    Autumn I love—­because no writs then issue.