MARCUS CURTIUS, THE HONEST LAWYER. A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME. For this exquisite bit of humour, we are indebted to the Salem Herald, an American newspaper, where it appeared signed, "Edgar Allen." Can it be the production of Edgar Allan Poe? if so, it forms a striking contrast to "The Raven." WILT hear how Marcus Curtius, that lawyer true and bold, swore, That the only honest lawyer could live in Rome no more? Oh, none could be more honest, in life and death, than he Who cheated but the sexton, and saved the burial fee. The lawyers in the Forum are squabbling loud and long, wrong; Begowned, bewigged, bewildered, each judge the clamour hears, And Justice, blind already, would fain have stopp'd her ears. As now the wordy contest grew hotter still and hotter, The desks, the books, the benches, began to quake and totter; And they heard a sound like thunder, a horrid, dreary sound, As though all the powers of evil danced the polka under ground. The lawyers through their spectacles look'd with a stony glare, And the crier stammer'd out, "O yes!" and whisper'd through a prayer. Some of the judges fainted, and there for dead they lay; And now-O sight of wonder!—with a stifling smell of sulph- VOL. V. N 76 "This gulf will close-no never! till in Rome the rarest thing, The rarest and most wondrous, a sacrifice you bring." O! great was the lamenting when these fearful facts were known, The mothers weep and wring their hands, the grandames groan, "Ochone;" And the little boys no longer their flying hoops pursue, And the men in moody silence pace slowly to and fro, woe; And the Fathers of the City-the Aldermen and Mayor- Then uprises Lucius Cimber, a grocer proud was he, "Let's try and fill the hole up with stones macadamised.” And they listen'd to his counsel, and with shovel and with spade, They adjourn'd unto the Forum, and aside their togas laid. And then all in their shirt-sleeves they work'd with might and main Patrician and Plebeian alike they work'd in vain. For though a thousand cart-loads into the gulf they threw, Instead of getting shallower it deep and deeper grew. And now a frenzied client who had lost his all that day, Seized "Selwyn's Nisi Prius" from the book-shelf where it lay: And in the hole he dash'd it, with a howl of maniac glee, And wish'd all law and lawyers at the bottom of the sea. And, fired by his example, the crowd seized, one by one, On "Chitty," and on "Starky," and on "Coke on Little ton.' On Bacon's whole Abridgment, with tooth and nail they fell, And where they wish'd those authors, 'twere not polite to tell. In vain the poor librarian, while tears ran down his cheek, Strove to bend them from their purpose-not a word they'd hear him speak. And the ven'rable Chief Justice, like Lord Mansfield at the fire, Not caring to remonstrate, thought it prudent to retire. Yet the gulf but yawned the wider for all that dose of law. Then from that mix'd assembly a seedy-looking gent (He pays not much for mending, who cannot pay his rent), With an old coat all in tatters, and a hat without a brim, Stalk'd proudly from the multitude, who, curious, gazed on him. "My name is Marcus Curtius! a Roman knight am I,— And eke a learned counsellor, but, alas! I cannot lie! I've gone upon the Circuit,-there came no briefs to me; I ne'er address'd a jury, ne'er pocketed a fee. Alas! mistaken parents, to bind me to the law! I have no natural cunning to make or find a flaw. He who'd sit upon a woolsack must be ne'er with conscience cursed, And for wool to fill the cushion, he must take to fleecing first. Then Lehold in me, O Romans! what the oracle demands, I'm too poor to pay the obolus for crossing in your bark; But I know that you will trust me; so now, my friends, ' good bye,' I'll trouble not the coroner, a natural death I die; A natural death for Curtius, who might have been so rich, But he was an honest lawyer, so he perish'd in a ditch." He said, and threw a summerset into that dreary vat― Head-foremost, like a thunder-bolt down went the brimless hat; Down went the brimless beaver full many a fathom deep, And the women took hysterics, and the men began to weep. When they dash'd away the tear-drops, and look'd abroad again, Where that gulf had late been yawning, there lay a level plain. And they rear'd a marble tombstone on the spot where he had died, And, in letters carved and gilded, was inscribed on either side, Here. Marcus . Curtius . Iyes . He onlye. honeste, Lawyerre . hee . Hee. felle. with. muche. philosophye . And with weeping and lamenting still is the story told, THE PEN AND THE PRESS. By JOHN C. PRINCE, the Artizan poet. YOUNG genius walk'd out by the mountains and streams, But its magical use he discover'd not yet, For it spoke to the world in a language of flame; The peaceful, the pure, the victorious pen! Young genius went forth on his rambles once more, He search'd the rude rock, and with rapture he found The pen and the press, blest alliance! combined THE WINNOWER. By THOMAS BUCHANAN READ, a poet of America. SINGS a maiden by a river, Sings and sighs alternately; 'Midst her hair of flaxen hue Tend'rest buds and blossoms teem; And her beauty glows as through Hazy splendours of a dream. Like her melody's rich bars, |