THE POACHERS. 245 



pushing fortunes in the Church, we should like to know what is. If 

 any other person than a bishop expressed such language as we have 

 quoted, the clergy would at once have branded him as a calumniator, 

 and viewed him as an incorrigible swindler. Now, however, the thing 

 stands recorded by the pen of no less a personage than Dr. Elrington: 

 it dropped from his goose-quill in an evil hour: a wicked world 

 will make their own use of it. To what a deplorable state must the 

 Church be reduced, when her " servants" in direct violation of their 

 ordination vows, have no higher motive for entering the sacred office 

 than that which, actuates a man in entering the army, the navy, or any 

 other secular profession! 



SONNET. 



BY SIR EGERTON BRIDGES. 

 TO H. F. CARY, TRANSLATOR OF DANTE. 



THOU hast with kindred spirit brought to view, 

 In Britain's language Dante's gloom sublime; 

 Thou hast done nobly, arid performed thy task 

 With naked force, the bard becoming well. 

 A toil so difficult 'tis given to few 

 To execute e'en in the happiest time 

 Of inspiration, when the brain can bask 

 Under the muses visionary spell. 

 Invention there, in her most eloquent mood, 

 Mystical, grand, and melancholy, opes 

 The prospects of another world, endued 

 With higher essence, where th' aspiring hopes 

 Of virtue past and former crimes regret, 

 The spirits in a mingled conflict set. 



THE POACHERS. 



COUNTRY SKETCHES. 



" HERE'S a night," said Jack Woodcock, as we came out of the 

 sign of the ' Rabbits.' " Here's a night, frosty and starlight, and no 

 moon ; who'll go to Corringham-Scroggs,* and try for a few Ion-g- 

 ear' d-ones ? we can get there by ten o'clock." 



" I'll make one/' said Mike Anderson. 



" And I'll make another," said Bill Smith. 



" Will you go Tom ?" said Woodcock turning round to me. 



" I've no objection," answered I, " if you think we shall not be 

 caught/' 



" Catch'd be d d," said Woodcock, " we must chance all that, 

 the country's too wild, man, there's no running you there among them 

 bushes and brambles. Besides I know every twist and turn for 

 twenty miles round th' scroggs, and old Ben Robinson would'nt take 

 me if he could ; sometimes when th' old keeper comes to th' market 



* Scroggs, a wild expanse of forest land which has never been cultivated. 



