And that, to clear his Counsel's tone, he
Must bribe him or with meat or money.

One morning he calls his clown in chief,
"Here take this pig to Lawyer Brief."
The clown (unlike his wife, they say)
Could both be silent, and obey:
The pig secured within a sack,
At ease hung dangling from his back;
Thus loaded, straight to town he went,
With many an awkward compliment.

A half way house convenient stood,
Where host was kind and ale was good:
In steps the clown and calls to Cecil-
"A quart of stout to whet my whistle !"
Eeased of his load, he takes a chair,
And quaffs oblivion to all care.

Three artful wags accost the clown,
And ask his errand up to town.
With potent ale his heart grows warm,
Which, drunk or sober, meant no harm;
He tells them plainly whence he came,
His master, and the lawyer's name :
And, ere the circling mug was drained,
Showed what the prostrate sack contained.
Whilst two the witless clown amuse,
With merry tales, and mournful news,
A third removes the sack unseen,
And soon sets free the guest within :
But, lest our clown the trick should trace,
A well-fed cur supplies the place.
The point cleared up of what's to pay,
Our clown in peace pursues his way.
Arrived, he makes his awkward bow,
With many a Wherefore and As how.
"Heaven bless your honor many a year!
Look what a pig I've brought you here!"
The sack untied without demur,

Forthwith out gently crept the cur.

Both stood aghast with eager eyes,

And both, no doubt, looked wondrous wise.

The clown, who saw the lawyer foam,

Swore 'twas a pig when brought from home:
And, wondering at the queer disaster,

In haste returned to tell his master.

Well pleased to see him take the bait,

The wags his quick return await.
What peals of noisy mirth prevail,
To hear him tell the mystic tale!
The devil is in't, they all agree,
And seem to wonder more than he.
From them to Cecil he repairs,
To her the strange event declares :
Meantime the wags, to end the joke,

Replace the pig within its poke.
The rustic soon resumes his load,
And, whistling, plods along the road.

The impatient farmer hails the clown,
And asks, "What news from London Town?
The pig was liked; they made you drink?"
"Nay, master! master! what d'ye think?
The pig (or I'm a stupid log)

Is changed into a puppy dog."

"A dog!"-"Nay, since my word you doubt: See here; I'll fairly turn him out."

No sooner was the sack untied,

Than a loud grunt his word belied.

"Death," cries the farmer, "tell me whence
Proceeds this daring insolence?

Make haste, take back this pig again, you
Presuming elf; or, zounds! I'll brain you !"
The clown of patient soul and blood,
Awhile in silent wonder stood;

Then brifly cried, with phiz demure—
"Yon lawyer is a witch, for sure!

How hoarse his voice! his face how grim!

What's pig with us, is dog with him.

Heaven shield my future days from evil,
For, as I live, I've seen the devil."

XXVI-ROGER HOGMAN AND HIS PIGS;
OR, THE THIEF DETECTED.

IN a small hamlet, town or village,

Which, I won't say,

However, this I know, folks lived by tillage,
Or something in that way-

(Excuse my polished style)

I know as much about a plough
As clowns do how to make a bow,
Or courteously to smile.

Now that I think apology enough,
For all in this narration you would huff.

Well, to return to this little village,

Where the people lived by tillage,

As I said before;

In one house—one that had a door,

(That's what I have said before)

There dwelt a man.

"Well, was he the only one-like Adam,

Before he had a madam,

And lived among the birds, and beasts, and fishes,

And ate his dinner without plates or dishes?''

No, there were many more,

Somewhere between a dozen and a score

The man I'd name was Hogman-christened Roger; And Roger Hogman was a hearty codger;

What's more, he had a sow and litter,

He had a wife, too, and that's better:
Her name was Nan.

The palace in which Roger Hogman's pigs (Observe by some 'twas called a stye)

Fed, squeaked, and grunted, and played other rigs, Stood in a yard close by.

Now Roger Hogman's pretty little grunters

(Like many farmer's sheep,

Nay, sometimes geese, fowls, nags, hunters)
Walked strangely in their sleep ;

Some would contend that they

Were carried off, or stolen;

Others would say,

That they had slipp'd,
Tumbled or tripp'd,

Some yawning gully hole in.

Here, as in all affairs of doubt,
Conjectures flew in swarms about ;
Yet, aiming at no certain mark,
Poor Roger still was in the dark.

He knew full well that they were gone,
But how?

"They've singly left me, one by one,

Except the sow,

And she is single now,"

Said Roger Hogman, in a doleful tone,
Somewhere between a whisper and a groan.

While in this meditating mood,

With body slightly bent he stood,

One hand in pocket, t'other scratching

His head, as if he would be catching
His pigs again,

Poor simple swain !

A bear, with monarch's stately stride

Approached him, by his master's side.

And now the pith and marrow of the story
I'll lay before ye.

First you must know

The keeper's name was Signor Bruno.

Well, Master Bruno, Bruin's master, said,

"I vanta for my bear von bed;

As I was come along, I spy,

Dere in your yard, von snug-a a pigsty ;
Vill you, to-night, let Bruin sleepa dere?

'Cause at de Crown,

Vere I lay down,

Dey have no bed to spare."

Roger was willing te accomodate,
Yet not a little puzzled how

To lodge his last remaining sow.
'Twas best, he thought, at any rate,
To put her in his own stone kitchen,
(Thinking to walk she had an itching)
And lend the stye to Signor Bruno ;

'Twas but one night, and that would soon go.

Terms being arranged

The sow's old residence was changed;

And soon the bear was in the stye,
Well chained-though by-the-bye,
His chain would let him walk about
As far as the sow could without.

Soon midnight came-but I'm no poet;
Lord, how some geniuses would go it ;

If they had stumbled upon midnight there,
They'd have apostrophised it quite threadbare.

Well, midnight came, and with it came the poacher,
On Roger Hogman's farm a sly encroacher.

Softly he crept, least he should wake bow-wow,
And lose the last remaining fattest sow.

Eager, to hold the prize within his arms,

For which he braved traps, guns, and dog's alarms, Without more preface he embraced the bear,

Who, most politely, gave him neighbor's fare,

And took good care

To keep him there.

The thief, not liking this rough salutation,

Strove to regain his former station,

But in vain ;

For Bruin hugged and growled,
And he, poor devil, howled

With pain.

Roger, alarmed at such a clatter,

Soon ran to learn what was the matter!-

"Here, Nan, make haste and bring a light,

For here be some unlucky wight,

As far as I can see in awkward plight."
When Nan appeard

The mist was cleared.

HIS

"So, neighbor Kill'em, it was yow

Who, not content with pigs, must steal my sow.
But, mun, I'll have ye tried, hanged, and dissected!
I'll bet with any man a groat,

My pigs have all gone down your

throat;

And when you're opened, why you'll be detected."

XXVII. THE SUICIDE.

ANONYMOUS.

IS eye was stern and wild; his cheek was pale and cold as clay; Upon his tighten'd lip, a smile of fearful meaning lay. He mused awhile, but not in doubt; no trace of doubt was there ; It was the steady, solemn pause of resolute despair!

Once more he looked upon the scroll, one more its words he read; Then calmly, with unflinching hand, its folds before him spread: I saw him bare his throat, and seize the blue, cold gleaming steel, And grimly try the temper'd edge he was so soon to feel. And sickness crept upon my heart, and dizzy swam my head; I could not stir-I could not cry-I felt benumbed and dead ! Black icy horrors struck me dumb, and froze my senses o'er ; I closed my eyes in utter fear, and strove to think no more.— Again I look'd: a fearful change across his face had pass'd; He seemed to rave-on cheek and lip a flaky foam was cast. He raised on high the glittering blade ;--then first I found a tongue; "Hold, madman! stay the frantic deed!" I cried, and forth I sprung. He heard me, but he heeded not; one glance around he gave ; And, ere I could arrest his hand, he had—begun to shave!

XXVIII. LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS.

CHARLES F. ADAMS.

I HAF von funny leedle boy

Vot gomes schust to my knee,—

Der queerest schap, der createst rogue

As efer you dit see.

He runs, und schumps, and schmashes dings.
In all barts off der house.

But vot off dot? He vas mine son,

Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.

He get der measels und der mumbs,

Und eferyding dot's oudt ;

He sbills mine glass off lager bier,

Poots schnuff indo mine kraut ;

He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese—

Dot vas der roughest chouse;

I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy

But leedle Yawcob Strauss.

He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum,

Und cuts mine cane in dwo

To make der schticks to beat it mit

Mine cracious, dot was drue!