nd my grandfather's sermons
are flung away upon my brother. I used to tell you that you killed him
with the catechism, and that he would turn wicked as soon as he broke
from his mammy's leading-strings. Oh, mother, you would not believe that
the young scapegrace was playing you tricks, and that sneak of a Tusher
was not a fit guide for him. Oh, those parsons, I hate 'em all!" says
Mistress Beatrix, clapping her hands together; "yes, whether they wear
cassocks and buckles, or beards and bare feet. There's a horrid Irish
wretch who never misses a Sunday at Court, and who pays me compliments
there, the horrible man; and if you want to know what parsons are, you
should see his behavior, and hear him talk of his own cloth. They're all
the same, whether they're bishops, or bonzes, or Indian fakirs. They
try to domineer, and they frighten us with kingdom come; and they wear a
sanctified air in public, and expect us to go down on our knees and ask
their blessing; and they intrigue, and they grasp, and they backbite,
and they slander worse than the worst courtier or the wickedest old
woman. I heard this Mr. Swift sneering at my Lord Duke of Marlborough's
courage the other day. He! that Teague from Dublin! because his Grace is
not in favor, dares to say this of him; and he says this that it may get
to her Majesty's ear, and to coax and wheedle Mrs. Masham. They say
the Elector of Hanover has a dozen of mistresses in his court at
Herrenhausen, and if he comes to be king over us, I wager that the
bishops and Mr. Swift, that wants to be one, will coax and wheedle them.
Oh, those priests and their grave airs! I'm sick of their square toes
and their rustling cassocks. I should like to go to a country where
there was not one, or turn Quaker, and get rid of 'em; and I would, only
the dress is not becoming, and I've much too pretty a figure to hide
it. Haven't I, cousin?" and here she glanced at her person and the
looking-glass, which told her rightly that a more beautiful shape and
face never were seen.

"I made that onslaught on the priests," says Miss Beatrix, afterwards,
"in order to divert my poor dear mother's anguish about Frank. Frank is
as vain as a girl, cousin. Talk of us girls being vain, what are WE to
you? It was easy to see that the first woman who chose would make a fool
of him, or the first robe--I count a priest and a woman all the same. We
are always caballing; we are not answerable for the fibs we tell; we are
always