How I grieve you're not with us!--pray, come, if you can,
Ere we're robbed of this dear, oratorical man,
Who combines in himself all the multiple glory
Of, Orangeman, Saint, _quondam_ Papist and Tory;--
(Choice mixture! like that from which, duly confounded,
The best sort of _brass_ was, in old times, compounded.)--
The sly and the saintly, the worldly and godly,
All fused down, in brogue so deliciously oddly!
In short, he's a _dear_--and _such_ audiences draws,
Such loud peals of laughter and shouts of applause,
As _can't_ but do good to the Protestant cause.
Poor dear Irish Church!--he today sketched a view
Of her history and prospect, to _me_ at least new,
And which (if it _takes_ as it ought) must arouse
The whole Christian world her just rights to espouse.
As to _reasoning_--you know, dear, that's now of no use,
People still will their _facts_ and dry _figures_ produce,
As if saving the souls of a Protestant flock were
A thing to be managed "according to Cocker!"
In vain do we say, (when rude radicals hector
At paying some thousands a year to a Rector,
In places where Protestants _never yet were_,)
"Who knows but young Protestants _may_ be born there?"
And granting such accident, think, what a shame,
If they didnt find Rector and Clerk when they came!
It is clear that, without such a staff on full pay,
These little Church embryos _must_ go astray;
And, while fools are computing what Parsons would cost,
Precious souls are meanwhile to the Establishment lost!
In vain do we put the case sensibly thus;--
They'll still with their figures and facts make a fuss,
And ask "if, while all, choosing each his own road,
Journey on, as we can, towards the Heavenly Abode,
It is right that _seven_ eighths of the travellers should pay
For _one_ eighth that goes quite a different way?"--
Just as if, foolish people, this wasn't, in reality,
A proof of the Church's extreme liberality,
That tho' hating Popery in _other_ respects,
She to Catholic _money_ in no way objects;
And so liberal her very best Saints, in this sense,
That they even go to heaven at the Catholic's expense.
But tho' clear to _our_ minds all these arguments be,
People cannot or _will_ not their cogency see;
And I grieve to confess, did the poor Irish Church
Stand on reasoning alone, she'd be left in the lurch.
It was therefore, dear Lizzy, with joy most sincere,
That I heard this nice Reverend O'_something_ we've here,
Produce, from the depths of his knowledge and reading,
A view of that marvellous Church, far exceeding,
In novelty, force, and profoundness of thought,
All that Irving himself in his glory e'er taught.
Looking thro' the whole history, present and past,
Of the Irish Law Church, from the first to the last;
Considering how strange its original birth--
Such a thing having _never_ before been on earth--
How opposed to the instinct, the law and the force
Of nature and reason has been its whole course;
Thro' centuries encountering repugnance, resistance,
Scorn, hate, execration--yet still in existence!
Considering all this, the conclusion he draws
Is that Nature exempts this one Church from her laws--
That Reason, dumb-foundered, gives up the dispute,
And before the portentous anomaly stands mute;
That in short 'tis a Miracle! and, _once_ begun,
And transmitted thro' ages, from father to son,
For the honor of miracles, _ought to go on_.
Never yet was conclusion so cogent and sound,
Or so fitted the Church's weak foes to confound.
For observe the more low all her merits they place,
The more they make out the miraculous case,
And the more all good Christians must deem it profane
To disturb such a prodigy's marvellous reign.
As for scriptural proofs, he quite placed beyond doubt
That the whole in the Apocalypse may be found out,
As clear and well-proved, he would venture to swear,
As anything else has been _ever_ found there:--
While the mode in which, bless the dear fellow, he deals
With that whole lot of vials and trumpets and seals,
And the ease with which vial on vial he strings,
Shows him quite a _first-rate_ at all these sort of things.
So much for theology:--as for the affairs
Of this temporal world--the light drawing-room cares
And gay toils of the toilet, which, God knows, I seek,
From no love of such things, but in humbleness meek,
And to be, as the Apostle, was, "weak with the weak,"
Thou wilt find quite enough (till I'm somewhat less busy)
In the extracts inclosed, my dear news-loving Lizzy.