The clock strikes Eleven:

My God, Thy mighty aid I seek, For I am faint and I am weak. Ah, see my child in fever lie,

Be Thou, my Friend and Saviour, nigh!
The cheek aglow, the breathing quick;
Come, Great Physician of the sick!
Sustaining power and strength Thou art
Of feeble faith and fainting heart!

Omnipotent! enthroned in heavenly light,
Above the stars, above earth's darkest night!
From Thine august, eternal throne above,
Thou dost look down in gentleness and love;
Thine is the kingdom, Thine the power and
might,

Guiding by day, and ruling in the night;

Thou lovest most amid the dark and storm
The wonders of Thy glory to perform;
Now, from Thy starry house, at this still hour,
Send forth Thy messengers of love and power;
They come to scatter Thy sweet dews around,
Upon the thirsty land and parchèd ground;
With sleep refreshing, and on golden beams
Of heaven's own light, in blessèd holy dreams,
They come, angelic messengers of God,
Upon the ladder of their heavenly road,
And bid the sinking world awake, arise
To joy and new communion with the skies!
Thou God of power, Thou God of glorious
might,

Oh, cast one loving glance, this weary night,
Into this chamber, on this little bed;
One cooling drop of Thy sweet mercy shed
Upon the burning temples of my child!
Amid delirium and the fever wild,

Amid his troubled dreams and strange alarms,
O loving Saviour, shield him in Thine arms!

The clock strikes Twelve:

Hark! 'tis the midnight hour-that awful stroke!

My child in terror and alarm bas 'woke;
The bell sounds shrill, and mournful is the
hour,

As it is tolled from out the belfry tower;
Solemn and still the death-watch hovers nigh,
Awful the night-wind as it passes by,
As though the spirits of the dead had come
To claim my darling, and to call him home!

O God, I tremble at this loneliness;
No friend or human help is in this place;
The awful midnight, with its darkened brow,

Peers through the casement like some deadly foe;

I hear the footsteps of the waking dead,
They seem to hover round this little bed.
My God! oh, can it be that e'en this night
The darkness comes that takes from me my
light?-

The kiss of death to snatch my babe away,
And as a corpse upon his cradle lay?
Child of my heart, may God protect thee still!
Thou mighty God, I yield me to Thy will.
Oh, what is man ?—a quivering aspen-leaf,
A gentle breath, a cut and gathered sheaf;
Ever and ever hovering o'er his head
The rustling plume and spirit of the dead.
Omnipotent! 'tis by Thy love and care
That I, and this my child, protected are;
Defend us, Lord, from every evil thing,
Hide, as a hen her brood, beneath Thy wing!
The clock strikes One:

The lamp burns low and with a sickly light;
Mine eyelids droop, for 'tis a long, long night:
Come, come, weak heart! uprouse thyself from

care,

And try the grand experiment of prayer.

She prays:

Lord Jesu Christ, to Thee in prayer I seek, The heart is willing, but the flesh is weak! Thou, the Good Shepherd, didst Thy vigils

keep

So oft and oft for Thy beloved sheep;
And on the mountain-top hast often prayed,
While night-winds circled round Thy sacred
head;

In that dark hour, in dread Gethsemane,
Didst bear for us Thy bitter agony ;
Thine Eye that doth nor sleep nor slumber
know,

From Thy bright heaven above watch here below!

Oh, give me now the utmost strength I need, To serve and please Thee both in will and deed!

Shed forth the unction of Thy grace abroad In my poor dried, decaying heart, my God! Stir up anew the flame of holy love

To burn more bright and seek its source above;
Lord Jesu Christ, display Thy might in me,
That I may watch this lonely hour with Thee!
The clock strikes Two:

Come, darling child, be good, drink up
This medicine draught, this bitter cup!

I know 'tis bitter to the taste,
But turns to sweetness at the last;
Refuse it not, be brave, my boy,
For sorrow oft doth turn to joy!

!

Thus to my life, my God, dost Thou
Present the bitter cup of woe;
My flesh cries out, "Oh, let it pass
"Thy will be done!" my spirit says.
Ah yes, for now I surely know,
Whate'er eternal love may do,
For our eternal good is sent,
And in the truest love is meant.
So have I now in patience quaffed
This bitter cup, this nauseous draught,
And lo, at Marah's stream we meet,
Where God doth make the bitter sweet;
So e'en the sorrows that befall
Are turned to blessings in us all!

The clock strikes Three:

The streak of morning gilds the dawning skies,
The cock-crow bids the waking sleepers rise,
A gentle breeze blows with its genial breath,
That tells of life, and now no more of death;
Soon shall we see the rising of the sun,
And this long dreary night of care is done!

Life stirs at last, and here and there is heard the welcome sound

Of friend and neighbour going forth upon their daily round;

The night-lamp, in its socket, dies at rising of

the dawn,

The greater light that rules the day hath through the casement shone.

My prayer is heard, and lo, my child, my darling, calmly sleeps;

The prayed-for Providence has come, and now in safety keeps ;

The burning brow of fever heat is damp with gentle dew,

And He Who is our Life and Hope doth life and hope renew.

With joyous heart I lift mine eyes; with

thankful heart indeed

I give the praise to Thee, my God, Thou Helper in my need;

Thou, Who art true, dost ne'er forsake the souls that are Thine own;

Thou givest joy where sorrow was-light in the darkness sown;

Though tears endure the livelong night, yet joy the morning brings;

The Sun of Righteousness doth rise with healing in His wings!

The clock strikes Four:

Loud calls the watchman at the door:
In Jesu's Name, ye sleepers rise,
The morning gilds the eastern skies;
Arise, ye children of the night,
And put ye on the robes of light ;
And with your loudest notes upraise
To God your joyous songs of praise!

66

PARONOMASIA: OR PUNS

"Such

logist, who has preserved the passages I have quoted from the letters of Philpot and Careless, received a due eulogy from Thomas Fuller, who himself must be placed in the front rank of English humorists. I have already given my readers so many tit-bits from his pen in my articles upon the London Directory,* that I can quote but little here. was his natural bias to conceits," says Charles Lamb, "that I doubt not, upon most occasions, it would have been going out of his way to have expressed himself out of them." Bishop Nicholson was very hard on him :-" Even the most serious and authentic parts of it (his Church history) are so interlaced with pun and quibble, that it looks as if the man had designed to ridicule the annals of our Church into fable and romance." But it is not every one who can appreciate drollery. sterling worth is well brought out in Mr. J. Eglinton Bailey's "Life of Dr. Fuller," which I advise my readers both to buy and study.

His

Charles the Second found shelter after the fight at Worcester with Colonel Lane. The great God-and-king man thus alludes to the incident:

"When midst your fiercest foes on every side,

For your escape God did a Lane provide." On his own name, both baptismal and patronymic, he was ever playing. At one time he is found stating:-"I confess there are more Thomases than myself much given to mistrust: whose faith will be at a stand:" at another praying:

Let Thy Son be the sope, I'll be the fuller."

Again he writes in a spirit of true devotion, "As for other stains and spots upon my soul, I hope that He (be it spoken without the least verbal reflection), who is the fuller's sope (Mal. iii. 2), will scour them forth with His merit, that I may appear clean by God's mercy."

66

Sometimes other people made themselves merry at his expense. To a Mr. Sparrowhawk Fuller once put the pointed question: What is the difference between an owl and a sparrow-hawk ?" The reply was smart, "An owl is fuller in the head, fuller in the face, and fuller all over!" I daresay honest Tom enjoyed the repartee amazingly, for as he says in his "Appeal: "-"I had rather my name should make many causelessly merry, than any justly sad: and seeing it lieth equally open and obvious to praise, or dispraise, I shall as little be elated when flattered-fuller of wit and learning;' as dejected when flouted-'fuller of folly and ignorance.'"

The famous Nonconformist Dr. Gill received some commendatory verses, in 1726, for a work entitled "The Ancient Mode of Baptism by Immersion." This treatise was in reply to a pamphlet indited by an Independent minister at Rothwell, in Northamptonshire. One of Dr. Gill's admirers writes in the following style :

"Stennett at first his furious foe did meet,
Cleanly compelled him to a swift retreat:
Next powerful Gale, by mighty blast, made fall
The Church's Dagon, the gigantic Wall;
May you with like success be victor still,
And give your rude antagonist his fill,
And see that Gale is still alive in Gill."

We have mentioned Shakespeare. Arch

bishop Trench reminds us ("Study of Words," p. 23), that he shows his own profound knowledge of the human heart, when he makes old John of Gaunt, worn with long sickness, and now ready to depart, play with his name, and dwell upon the consent between it and his condition; so that when his royal nephew asks him, "How is it with aged Gaunt?" he answers,— "Oh, how that name befits my composition, Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old,Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as the grave," with much more in the same fashion; while it is into the mouth of the slight and frivolous king that Shakespeare puts the exclamation of wonder,—

(SUFFOLK)

Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
A cunning man did calculate my birth,
And told me that by water I should die."

(Henry VI.) Lorenzo, in the "Merchant of Venice," says:

"It is much that the Moor should be more than reason; but if she be less than an honest woman, she is indeed more than I took her for." Launcelot replies: "How every fool can play upon the word!" I have furnished some examples of punning upon this name, which is peculiary susceptible of such treatment, in "The Romance of the London Directory."

Here is one on Sir Thomas More, who by unflagging industry had brought an end to the list of Chancery suits.

"When More some years had Chancellor been, No more suits did remain ;

The same shall never more be seen,
Till More be there again."

When Dr. Manners Sutton succeeded Archbishop Moore the following rhyme got abroad :

"What say you? the Archbishop's dead?
A loss indeed! Oh, on his head

May Heaven its blessings pour; But if with such a heart and mind; In Manners we his equal find,

Why should we wish for Moore?" Talking of 'episcopal preferments we are reminded of Punch's famous rhyme on the present bishop of Worcester (Philpott) the great Philpotts of Exeter being yet alive. "A good appointment? No, it's not,'

Said old beer-drinking Peter Watts;
'At Worcester one but hears "Philpott,"
At generous Exeter "Philpotts."""

It is said the older prelate once addressed his Right Reverend friend, as "my very singular brother."

When Mr. Fellowes succeeded Dr. Parr as chaplain to Queen Caroline, an epigram appeared to this effect:

"There's a difference between

Dr. Parr and the Queen:

For the reason ye need not go far;
The Doctor is jealous

Of little Fellowes

Whom the Queen thinks much above Parr." When Bishop Goodenough was appointed to preach before the House of Lords, it was said,

""Tis well enough that Goodenough
Before the Lords should preach;
For sure enough they're bad enough
He undertakes to teach."

A writer in Chambers's Journal, from whose collection I have stolen the above, adds to this, that when this prelate was made bishop, a certain dignitary, whom the public had expected to see appointed, being asked why he had been passed over, said, "Because I was not Goodenough." Talking of sermons, how witty was that clergyman, whom James the First of England, and Sixth of Scotland, commanded to preach before him. He gave out his text, thus commencing, James first and sixth: "He that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven by the wind and tossed." This was rather severe on the inconstant monarch.

A story of the last century has come down to us. It appears in the earlier editions of "Joe Miller." Two ministers who had fallen out were announced to preach at the