so common that the disease will possibly cure itself. In this matter imitation will be found less fatal than singularity. Hitherto, some of our worthy pastors, finding themselves wanting in the interest, perseverance, and piety, (?) requisite to recommend them early in life to a bishopric, have contented themselves with the cheap distinction of a fashionable apostacy.

We hear that Mr. Bennett cannot enter the Papal Church, since he is married. It was some time ago the intention of Wiseman to ask for a general dispensation as to the matrimony of priests in England. This would certainly slacken a little the dangers and horrors of confession. But, however, Mr. Bennett must content himself as a martyr with a glorious subscription. Lord John Russell ought certainly to tender him £100 for his prayers in the stilly night, offered up for the backsliding premier. We recommend to Mr. Bennett the free use of the plate. The introduction of a little soft music and some perfumery, in his intended Church, might aid the "draw."

In the meantime, we would suggest that St. James's theatre might be engaged to advantage for a spiritual monologue, à la Bunn, with religious poses plastiques and exercises, to be followed by animal magnetism. It is astonishing how charmingly this style of worship may be developed.

CANADA FOR EMIGRATION.

We have given some passages selected from letters from a settler in Wisconsin, in the United States. While the incarnation of extermination is fearfully visible in Ireland,

and the great funeral procession of emigration is winding its way through the southern counties of Ireland to the seacoast, in the midst of the prosperity of Great Britain— that prosperity which reigns triumphant in the dark print of the columns of the Times-that prosperity which drives the lordling to New Zealand, and fills the workhouse and the gaol with squalid langour and misery-that prosperity which leaves our shores open to the foreigner and drives the merchant to dishonesty or bankruptcy—that prosperity which rests on the assurance of such men as Messrs. Cobden and Bright, Sir F. Lawley, and Lord Lyttletonit is well to know what asylum and what resources a foreign country offers to those who can yet afford to leave their own with the bare means of commencing a laborious existence in their pockets.

But we cannot forbear from observing that a territory, which still acknowledges British sway, whilst it presents equal, if not greater advantages, is free and open to the choice of the British emigrant, and invites him to its shores. The produce of Canada is at least equal to that of Wisconsin, whilst her resources are unbounded, and her climate, in many vast districts, superior. No neglect or indifference on the part of a people, and their statesmen, ever exceeded that which is and has been exhibited by us towards a country which, properly united with us, and reciprocating the benefits we bestowed, would elevate Great Britain to a position greater than she ever occupied in the annals of history.

COBDEN-THE "MORAL BULLY."

In another part of our journal will be found, from some author, of whose identity we are at present ignorant, the sketch bearing the title of the "Moral Bully." Henceforward let that appellation cling to Mr. Cobden; for assuredly never did man labour harder to earn it than he and his associate Bright have done in the transaction which associates their names-an honour they little deserve-with that of a brave defender of his country-Admiral Hastings.

A great deal has lately been said about notoriety. Mr. Young and Mr. Muntz have been heavily accused by the Free-trade journals of a desire to acquire, at any price, this forbidden luxury. The choice of a leap off the Monument, a shot at the Queen, a Temple cruelty case, or the report of a Birmingham meeting, is supposed to be quite immaterial to these gentlemen, in their terrible craving for fame. But, what shall we call the hankering of a Cobden? Notoriety does not satisfy him. Ignominy is his preternatural desire, Contempt his soul's Dulcinea, Disgust the El Dorado of his mind. For, unless such were the case, no man would thrust himself forward with a lying prologue to his own comedy, and finish with a barefaced epilogue of notorious falsehood, bandying the equivocation like a shuttlecock with his Siamese brother, on the political and social stage of the provinces, where he travels like an itinerant Bottom.

Messrs. Cobden and Bright put one in mind of the immortal Pyke and Pluck of Nickleby creation. They are bamboozling the simple-minded widow, Mrs. Free-trade. "Did I not, Pluck?" says one, asking for the prompt corroboration of some insolent invention. "You did, Pyke," replies the Achates. "I appeal to you, Pyke," says Pluck.

"Oh! honour, he did," rejoins that individual, placing his hand upon the white waistcoat which conceals his hollow thorax. But we do not find that the ingenious confraternity of Pyke and Pluck were discomfited by contradiction. They generally asserted things which had passed only between themselves, such as observations in praise of the person they were toadying, supposed to have been made in the plenitude of admiration by either party, when absent from the proposed victim of their small-beer arts. But Mr. Bright makes it too difficult for his ready associate to back him. Cobden cannot rescue him. He supplies sheer impudence for an explanation, and denies any satisfaction whatever to the party he has belied. Amongst the arts of a reckless mob orator, the suggestio falsi holds an equal if not a superior place to the suppressio veri. But both of these yield to a direct and positive assertion, made knowingly and deliberately in order to deceive. Mr. Cobden, in his vulgar eagerness to demonstrate that we want no defences, and are in no danger from invasion, states, that the whole evidence of the gallant Admiral rested upon a hint received from the Bishop of Madagascar. It is scarcely worth while to contradict this for our readers; but from the ignorant audience which Mr. Cobden addressed it elicited a shout of laughter. The Admiral desires a retractation and an apology. Neither are given. We certainly think that he lowered himself by condescending to treat Cobden on gentlemanly terms. It was a mistake to think of sending him a cartel. But we can conceive that a gentleman, who is not a moborator, might easily, in the hurry of the moment, betake himself to the resource afforded by the little chivalry which is left somewhere or other, here or there, amongst us. We

should as soon, nay sooner, have thought of challenging Widdicomb or Joseph Ady. Nay, we doubt not but at least one of the above individuals might reserve a point of honour where to fight. But Cobden neither fights nor apologises, however gross and glaring the wrong he has inflicted. All moral bullies act thus. O'Connell would not fight; but he called names, and his powers of abuse were proverbial. We trust that Mr. Cobden may not receive the only check that can be imposed upon such conduct. We should be sorry to see any honest fellow fined or imprisoned for his sake.

Let us now exhibit him in another light. The above is personal outrage. Let us now show by what stuff the people are led astray and deceived who listen to such buffoonery as is poured forth by these sordid utilitarians. Listen to his sickly raving about the Hyde Park Conservatory. Let us ask how Mr. Cobden proposes to indemnify the wives and families of the poor men whom he induces to quit their homes and spend their hard-wrung earnings in a trip to the great Babylon? He is recommending a general "" goose club" to enable them to wing their flight to London next year.

"There is plenty of time to lay by sufficient for the cheap trip to London, and you cannot do a more worthy act. I was last week in Hyde Park, surveying the building, as far as it had been erected, for this great exhibition. Why, the building itself would repay a visit to London, if you walked all the way. There never was such a space enclosed by human hands before. Talk of the Pyramids covering a large space, or of the great St. Peter's at Rome, or of the Vatican, or of any other great building, there never was anything to be compared to it -nothing ever conceived by human heads, or executed by human hands, to compare with the extent of this vast enclosure, and it is all of glass, too. There is nothing in the 'Arabian Nights' Tales' half so extravagant, as to fancy eighteen or twenty acres of land covered over with a glass