e.--He's told me to-night he's going to--to--Ro-o-ome.
[Miss De l'Aisle bursts into tears.]

Rev. O. Slocum.--My lord, I have the highest club, which gives the trick
and two by honors.

Thus, you see, we have a variety of clergymen in Our Street. Mr. Oriel
is of the pointed Gothic school, while old Slocum is of the good old
tawny port-wine school: and it must be confessed that Mr. Gronow, at
Ebenezer, has a hearty abhorrence for both.

As for Gronow, I pity him, if his future lot should fall where Mr. Oriel
supposes that it will.

And as for Oriel, he has not even the benefit of purgatory, which he
would accord to his neighbor Ebenezer; while old Slocum pronounces both
to be a couple of humbugs; and Mr. Mole, the demure little beetle-browed
chaplain of the little church of Avemary Lane, keeps his sly eyes down
to the ground when he passes any one of his black-coated brethren.

There is only one point on which, my friends, they seem agreed. Slocum
likes port, but who ever heard that he neglected his poor? Gronow, if
he comminates his neighbor's congregation, is the affectionate father
of his own. Oriel, if he loves pointed Gothic and parched peas for
breakfast, has a prodigious soup-kitchen for his poor; and as for little
Father Mole, who never lifts his eyes from the ground, ask our doctor
at what bedsides he finds him, and how he soothes poverty, and braves
misery and infection.

THE BUMPSHERS.

No. 6, Pocklington Gardens, (the house with the quantity of flowers
in the windows, and the awning over the entrance,) George Bumpsher,
Esquire, M.P. for Humborough (and the Beanstalks, Kent).

For some time after this gorgeous family came into our quarter, I
mistook a bald-headed, stout person, whom I used to see looking through
the flowers on the upper windows, for Bumpsher himself, or for the
butler of the family; whereas it was no other than Mrs. Bumpsher,
without her chestnut wig, and who is at least three times the size of
her husband.

The Bumpshers and the house of Mango at the Pineries vie together in
their desire to dominate over the neighborhood; and each votes the other
a vulgar and purse-proud family. The fact is, both are City people.
Bumpsher, in his mercantile capacity, is a wholesale stationer in Thames
Street; and his wife was the daughter of an eminent bill-broking firm,
not a thousand miles from Lombard Street.

He does not sport a coronet and supporters upon his London plate and
carriages