When the statue, by Heaven's grace,
Suddenly did change the face.

Of this interesting race,

As a saint, sure, only could.

For as the jockey who at Epsom rides,

When that his steed is spent and punished sore, Diggeth his heels into the courser's sides,

And thereby makes him run one or two furlongs

more;

Even thus, betwixt the eighth rib and the ninth,
The saint rebuked the Prior, that weary creeper;
Fresh strength into his limbs her kicks imparted,
One bound he made, as gay as when he started.
Yes, with his brethren clinging at his cloak,
The statue on his shoulders-fit to choke-
One most tremendous bound made Hyacinth,
And soused friars, statue, and all, slapdash into the
Dnieper!

The friars won, and jumped into Borysthenes fluvius.

XIX.

And when the Russians, in a fiery rank,
Panting and fierce, drew up along the shore;
(For here the vain pursuing they forbore,
Nor cared they to surpass the river's bank);
Then, looking from the rocks and rushes dank,
A sight they witnessed never seen before,
And which, with its accompaniments glorious,
Is writ i' the golden book, or liber aureus.

And how the
Russians sa w

Plump in the Dnieper flounced the friar and The statue get friends,

They dangling round his neck, he fit to choke,

When suddenly his most miraculous cloak

Over the billowy waves itself extends,
Down from his shoulders quietly descends
The venerable Sophy's statue of oak;

off Hyacinth his back, and sit down with the friars on Hyacinth his cloak,

116

How in this manner of boat they sayled away.

Which, sitting down upon the cloak so ample,
Bids all the brethren follow its example!

Each at her bidding sat, and sat at ease;
The statue 'gan a gracious conversation,
And (waving to the foe a salutation)
Sail'd with her wondering happy protégés
Gaily adown the wide Borysthenes,

Until they came unto some friendly nation.
And when the heathen had at length grown shy of
Their conquest, she one day came back again to
Kioff.

XX.

Finis, or the end.

THINK NOT, O READER, THAT WE'RE LAUGHING AT

YOU;

YOU MAY GO TO KIOFF NOW AND SEE THE STATUE !

W

From Paris forth did Titmarsh wheel,

I thought myself as rich a prince

As beggar poor I'm now at Lille.

Confiding in my ample means-
In troth, I was a happy chiel!
I passed the gates of Valenciennes,
I never thought to come by Lille.

I never thought my twenty pounds
Some rascal knave would dare to steal;
I gaily passed the Belgic bounds.
At Quiévrain, twenty miles from Lille.

To Antwerp town I hastened post,
And as I took my evening meal,
I felt my pouch,-my purse was lost,
O Heaven! Why came I not by Lille?

I straightway called for ink and pen,
To Grandmamma I made appeal;
Meanwhile a loan of guineas ten
I borrowed from a friend so leal.

I got the cash from Grandmamma (Her gentle heart my woes could feel), But where I went, and what I saw,

What matters? Here I am at Lille.

My heart is weary, my peace is gone,
How shall I e'er my woes reveal?
I have no cash, I lie in pawn,

A stranger in the town of Lille.

II.

To stealing I can never come,

To pawn my watch I'm too genteel: Besides, I left my watch at homeHow could I pawn it then at Lille?

"La note," at times the guests will say. I turn as white as cold boil'd veal; I turn and look another way,

I dare not ask the bill at Lille.

I dare not to the landlord say,
"Good sir, I cannot pay your bill;
He thinks I am a Lord Anglais,

And is quite proud I stay at Lille.

He thinks I am a Lord Anglais,
Like Rothschild or Sir Robert Peel,
And so he serves me every day

The best of meat and drink in Lille.

Yet when he looks me in the face
I blush as red as cochineal;

And think, did he but know my case,
How changed he'd be, my host of Lille.

My heart is weary, my peace is gone,
How shall I e'er my woes reveal?

I have no money, I lie in pawn,
A stranger in the town of Lille.

III.

The sun bursts out in furious blaze,
I perspirate from head to heel;
I'd like to hire a one-horse chaise-
How can I, without cash at Lille?

I

pass

in sunshine burning hot
By cafés where in beer they deal ;
I think how pleasant were a pot,
A frothing pot of beer of Lille!