——But what says my good LORD BISHOP OF LONDON to this same WESTMINSTER SCRUTINY—this daily combination of rites, sacred and profane—ceremonies religious and political under his hallowed roof of ST. ANN’S CHURCH, SOHO? Should his Lordship be unacquainted with this curious process, let him know it is briefly this:—At ten o’clock the HIGH BAILIFF opens his inquisition in the VESTRY, for the PERDITION OF VOTES, where he never fails to be honoured with a crowded audience.—At eleven o’clock the HIGH PRIEST mounts the rostrum in the CHURCH for the SALVATION OF SOULS, without a single body to attend him; even his corpulent worship, the clerk, after the first introductory AMEN, filing off to the Vestry, to lend a hand towards reaping a quicker harvest!—The alternate vociferations from Church to Vestry, during the different SERVICES, were found to cross each other sometimes in responses so apposite, that a gentleman who writes shorthand was induced to take down part of the Church-medley-dialogue of one day, which he here transcribes for general information, on a subject of such singular importance, viz.

HIGH BAILIFF.—I cannot see that this here fellow is a just vote.

CURATE.—“In thy sight shall no man living be justified.”

Mr. FOX.—I despise the pitiful machinations of my opponents, knowing
the just cause of my electors must in the end prevail.

CURATE.—“And with thy favourable kindness shalt thou defend him as
with a shield.”

WITNESS.—He swore d—n him if he did not give Fox a plumper!

CLERK—“Good Lord! deliver us.”

Mr. MORGAN.—I stand here as Counsel for Sir CECIL WRAY.

CURATE.—“A general pestilence visited the land, serpents and FROGS defiled the holy temple.”

Mr. PHILLIPS.—Mr. HIGH BAILIFF, the audacity of that fellow opposite to me would almost justify my chastising him in this sacred place; but I will content myself with rolling his heavy head in the neighbouring kennel.

CURATE.—“Give peace in our time, O Lord!”

Sir CECIL WRAY.—I rise only to say thus much, that is, concerning
myself—though as for the matter of myself, I don’t care, Mr. HIGH
BAILIFF, much about it—

Mr. FOX.—Hear! hear! hear!

CURATE.—“If thou shalt see the ass of him that hateth thee lying under his burthen, thou shalt surely help him.”

Sir CECIL WRAY.—I trust—I dare say—at least I hope I may venture
to think—that my Right Hon. friend—I should say enemy—fully
comprehends what I have to offer in my own defence.

CURATE.—“As for me I am a worm, and no man; a very scorn of men,
and the outcast of the people!—fearfulness and trembling are come
upon me, and an horrible dread overwhelmed me!!!”

HIGH BAILIFF.—As that fellow there says he did not vote for Fox,
who did he poll for?

CURATE.—“BARRABAS!—now Barrabas was a robber.”