Sometimes, like other prophets, it comes to church to speak, never to listen; and then it may be loudly heard, to the joy of the congregations rather than of the clergy. The rest of its history has been embalmed in a song by one of its friends:—
I
There’s a goggle-eyed cherub, that’s living with me;
‘Tuck-too! Tuck-too!’
And, whatever I do, he is anxious to see.
‘Tuck-too! Tuck-too!’
II
With a crocodile’s shape, but, thank Heaven! he’s small,
‘Tuck-too! Tuck-too!’
He walks on the ceiling, and walks on the wall