Typo: A Monthly Newspaper and Literary Review, Volume 8
« Ten thousand snares are offered to the public. » So, with unusual candor, says the prospectus of a new company in Melbourne. The compositor has scored a bull's-eye.
As an authority on demonology, the Dunfermline Press, a Scottish paper, rivals the War Cry. It says:— « The devil is not yet in hell, but ruling in heavenly places. Spiritualism, hypnotism, and theosophy are the operations of the demon, who will not rule in hell because he is fated to be tormented with chains for ever and ever. »
The Rev. Philip Thomas (denomination and locality not stated) is another demonolo-gist. The press, he says, is the adversary of Christ's kingdom upon earth, and as a whole is unmistakeably hostile to Christ. The senior editor of the press is the devil, and the press does the work of the devil.—If this be a fair sample of the husks wherewith this gentle pastor feeds his flock, there must be a mighty famine in the sheepfold.
The Gaelic Journal of Dublin prints the following characteristic piece of vituperation, dating from about 1800. Pat Murphy (we alter the name) was High Sheriff of Clare:
The Lord is pleased when man refrains from sin;
Satan is pleased when he a soul doth win;
Mankind is pleased whene'er a villain dies;
Now all are pleased—for here Pat Murphy lies.
The Journal does not state—perhaps is not aware—that with the exception of a few verbal alterations, to give it a personal application, the entire quatrain is stolen.
A collection of James Russell Lowell's letters has been published. There are occasional verses scattered through the letters (says the Scotsman) to make of themselves a respectable book. Here is a delightful scrap, for instance:
Thank Heaven! whatsoe'er the rate is
At which some other things are sold,
Nature is ever had « free gratis,
Children half-price, » as 'twas of old.
And here is a delightful invitation to dine upon sucking pig—not, by the way, the only pig poem in the book:—
Fragment of a Pindarique Ode in the Manner of the Late Divine Mr. Abraham Cowley.
Come, oh my Fields,
Leaving the Citie (with ill Authors vext),
☞At half-past two on Thursday next—
Come, try what Sweets the Country yields;
Come and eat Pigge!
For such the swelling Nature
Of that delicious Creature,
That ere another Week he'll be too bigge.
Come, and bring her with you
By whose fair Presence graced
An Irish Stew—
Nay, a meer emptie Board were an imperial Feast.