Ex. LXII.-THE BRIEFLESS BARRISTER.

AN attorney was taking a turn,
In shabby habiliments drest;
His coat it was shockingly worn,
And the rust had invested his vest.

JOHN G. SAXE

His breeches had suffered a breach,
His linen and worsted were worse;
He had scarce a whole crown in his hat,
And not half a crown in his purse.
And thus as he wandered along,
A cheerless and comfortless elf,
He sought for relief in a song,
Or complainingly talked to himself:
"Unfortunate man that I am!
I've never a client but grief;
The case is, I've no case at all,

And in brief, I've ne'er had a brief!

"I've waited and waited in vain,

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Expecting an opening' to find,

Where an honest young lawyer might gain
Some reward for the toil of his mind.

"Tis not that I'm wanting in law,

Or lack an intelligent face,

That others have cases to plead,

While I have to plead for a case.

"O, how can a modest young man
E'er hope for the smallest progression-
The profession's already so full

Of lawyers so full of profession!"

While thus he was strolling around,
His eye accidentally fell

On a very deep hole in the ground,

And he sighed to himself, "It is well!"

To curb his emotions he sat

On the curb-stone the space of a minute, Then cried, "Here's an opening at last!" And in less than a jiffy was in it!

Next morning twelve citizens came,

('Twas the coroner bade them attend,) To the end that it might be determined How the man had determined his end!

"The man was a lawyer, I hear,"

Quoth the foreman who sat on the corse; "A lawyer? Alas!" said another,

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Undoubtedly he died of remorse!"

A third said, "He knew the deceased,
An attorney well versed in the laws,
And as to the cause of his death,

'T was no doubt from the want of a cause."

The jury decided at length,

After solemnly weighing the matter, "That the lawyer was drownded, because He could not keep his head above water!"

Ex. LXIII.—DOUGLAS AND MARMION.

THE train from out the castle drew;

But Marmion stopped to bid adieu:

SCOTT.

"Though something I might plain," he said,
"Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your king's behest,
While in Tantallon's towers I staid;
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble earl, receive my hand."-
But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :-

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My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still
Be open to my sovereign's will,
To each one whom he lists, howe'er,
Unmeet to be the owner's peer,
My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation stone-
The hand of Douglas is his own;
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,

And "This to me!" he said,—

"An 't were not for thy hoary beard
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared

To cleave the Douglas' head!
And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer,
He, who does England's message here,
Although, the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate:
And, Douglas, more, I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,

Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near,
(Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword,)

I tell thee, thou 'rt defied!le but
And if thou said'st I am not peer,

To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland, or highland, far or near,

Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"

On the earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashy hue of age:

Fierce he broke forth:-"And dar'st thou then

To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?

And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?
No, by Saint Bryde of Bothwell, no!-
Up drawbridge, grooms-what, warder ho!
Let the portcullis fall."

Lord Marmion turned,-well was his need,
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung,
The ponderous gate behind him rung:
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

Ex. LXIV.-MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE.

R. HARRIS BARHAM.

I was in Margate last July, I walked upon the pier,
I saw a little vulgar boy-I said "What make you here?—
The gloom upon your youthful cheek speaks any thing but joy ;"
Again I said, "What make you here, you little vulgar boy ?"

He frowned, that little vulgar boy-he deemed I meant to scoff

And when the little heart is big, a little "sets it off;"
He put his finger in his mouth, his little bosom rose,—
He had no little handkerchief to wipe his little nose!

"Hark! don't you hear, my little man ?—it's striking nine," I said,

"An hour when all good little boys and girls should be in bed. Run home and get your supper, else your ma' will scoldoh! fie!

It's very wrong indeed for little boys to stand and cry!"

The tear-drop in his little eye again began to spring,
His bosom throbbed with agony-he cried like any thing!
I stooped, and thus amidst his sobs I heard him murmur-

"Ah!

I have n't got no supper! and I have n't got no ma' ! !—

"My father, he is on the seas,-my mother's dead and gone!
And I am here, on this here pier, to roam the world alone;
I have not had, this live-long day, one drop to cheer my heart,
Nor brown' to buy a bit of bread with,-let alone a tart.

"If there's a soul will give me food, or find me in employ, By day or night, then blow me tight!" (he was a vulgar boy ;) "And now I'm here, from this here pier it is my fixed intent To jump, as Mr. Levi did from off the Monu-ment!"

"Cheer up said,

! cheer up! my

little man-cheer up!" I kindly

You are a naughty boy to take such things into your head: If you should jump from off the pier, you'd surely break

your legs,

Perhaps your neck-then Bogey 'd have you, sure as eggs are eggs!

"Come home with me, my little man, come home with me

and sup;

My landlady is Mrs. Jones-we must not keep her upThere's roast potatoes on the fire,—-enough for me and you— Come home, you little vulgar boy-I lodge at Number 2."

I took him home to Number 2, the house beside "The Foy," I bade him wipe his dirty shoes,-that little vulgar boy,—

And then I said to Mistress Jones, the kindest of her sex, "Pray be so good as go and fetch a pint of double X !”

But Mrs. Jones was rather cross, she made a little noise,
She said she "did not like to wait on little vulgar boys."
She with her apron wiped the plates, and, as she rubbed the
delf,

Said I might "go to Jericho, and fetch my beer myself!"

I did not go to Jericho I went to Mr. Cobb

I changed a shilling—(which in town the people call “
Bob")—

It was not so much for myself as for that vulgar child—
And I said, "A pint of double X, and please to draw it mild !"

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When I came back I gazed about--I gazed on stool and chair

I could not see my little friend-because he was not there!
I peeped beneath the table-cloth-beneath the sofa, too—
I said, "You little vulgar boy! why what's become of you?"

I could not see my table-spoons-I looked, but could not see
The little fiddle-patterned ones I use when I'm at tea;
-I could not see my sugar-tongs-my silver watch-oh, dear!
I know 't was on the mantle-piece when I went out for beer.

I could not see my Mackintosh!-it was not to be seen!
Nor yet my best white beaver hat, broad-brimmed and lined
with green;

My carpet-bag-my cruet-stand, that holds my sauce and

soy,

My roast potatoes!-all are gone!-and so 's that vulgar boy!

I

rang the bell for Mrs. Jones, for she was down below, “—Oh, Mrs. Jones! what do you think?—ain't this a pretty go?

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-That horrid little vulgar boy whom I brought here to-night, -He 's stolen my things and run away!!"-Says she, "And sarve you right!!”

Next morning I was up betimes-I sent the crier round,
All with his bell and gold-laced hat, to say I'd give a pound
To find that little vulgar boy, who'd gone and used me so;
But when the crier cried "O yes!" the people cried, "O

no!"