Brac'd early by Adversity's keen frost,

Our Childe's high courage bore him well along;
A pittance, sav'd from wreck, just paid his cost;
His wants were few, his resolution strong;
No pleasure tamper'd with, no moment lost;
Though pos'd twixt legal right and moral wrong,
He oft surmis'd that law, upon dissection,
Was not quite human reason's last perfection.

In legal fictions, and stale repetitions,

He saw a maze contriv'd to place awry
To vulgar eyes facts, doctrines, and positions;
And weary out the sceptic who would pry
Into the secret of the law's omniscience;

He saw that chancery-suits, as none deny,
Are held inflictions of heav'n's special ire.
Out-Heroding blight, murrain, flood, and fire.

Not that he grudg'd a grain of toil expended,
Or let such shrewd surmises shake his patience;
"When I'm Chief Justice, this shall be amended,"
Quoth he, and back'd such honest affirmations
With a stray leaguer-oath. 'Twas well intended;
But pride of art, acquired associations,
And etiquette's free-masonry will bind,
All in due time, the most ingenuous mind.

Well, the point 's not what he might one day do,
But what he did at our chief country town,
Th' eventful morn when first the joys he knew
Of a dear maiden brief, and donn'd his gown
Like Cæsar's mantle, hoping for his due

Of long-expected conquest and renown;
He deem'd some "tide in the affairs of men "
Set in to turn his legal mill'just then.

It chanc'd the client on the adverse side
Was an astute old Anabaptist lawyer,

A man of weight and territorial pride.

Who rose from nought by swindling his employer; And now, for party services long tried,

Rul'd Whig committees, and was sole enjoyer

Of many a fair sequestrated possession.

The present was a case of gross oppression.

Our hero, when he evidently saw

The judge was biass'd, and the jury pack'd,
Chaf'd like a war-horse touch'd upon the raw,
Ably he cited precedent and act;

His speech had pith and fire, was sound in law,
But wretchedly devoid of prudent tact.
For he swing'd soundly in his peroration
The man of influence and commanding station.

He hook'd the great Leviathan, and tore

His ravenous jaws in such unsparing sort

As tickled the rough clowns to their heart's core. Thrice check'd, and menac'd for contempt of court,

His blood was rous'd; defiance, as of yore

On the pitch'd field, spoke in his look and port: The bright eyes fix'd on him, the crowd's applause He mark'd not, for his heart was in the cause.

He lost his verdict, as was well foreseen

By the initiate clique, the self-announc'd
As "waiters upon Providence," whose spleen
Stung to the quick, predicted him well trounc'd
'T was even plain to his perception keen,

He was look'd shy on by his caste; denounc'd
As a mark'd man, who had contriv'd to mar,
As the times went his prospects at the bar.

Forde, his best friend who always took his part,
Sat with a long face, looking vex'd and worried,
And cut five pens to stumps in grief of heart.
His client's own attorney, red and flurried
At his display of Ciceronian art,

Pull'd him aside, and with an accent hurried, "Good Heav'n, sir, think what you have done!" he said, "Run from my strict instructions; risk'd my bread!

"I took this awkward cause from pure good will,
Securing first, of course, my own expences;
Censur'd I was for it as rash; but still

I almost pledg'd you to avoid offences
Gross and uncall'd for; 'twill take all my skill
To clear myself; and the profession's sense is
I should be ruin'd, sir, past all relief,
By ever offering you another brief."

"T was somewhat galling to our Childe, to find
He risk'd the cherish'd end of seven years' toil,
But this he reck'd of less; as when entwin'd

The wild stag struggles in the boa's coil,
His soul swell'd, his eye flash'd, to see combin'd
Rapine and fraud to waste his native soil,
And justice barter'd. 'T was past human bearing:
He wish'd-but he had some years left off swearing.

Now, had this happen'd in the present day,

Our friend had gain'd his cause, and spoilt my story; For, as to state affairs, whatever may

Be my convictions as a country Tory,

Our yeoman juries, in their plain array

And clear rough judgment, are the nation's glory;
Take, too, those judges I have seen the most of,
Fair samples of a bench we well may boast of.

"Come, Sursum corda! as our chaplain said When rations fail'd us in that week's hard frost ; At eight-and-twenty a bold heart and head

May win fair fortune on some foreign coast. -Liv'd there a monarch like Gustavus dead

But, courage! none shall say my stomach's lost. (Some wine, there, my kind hostess!) eat and drink; To-day keep up our hearts; to-morrow think.

"('Tis capital good mutton this of thine,) Better, perhaps, had I begun it hot;

(I'm not so skill'd a judge of thy good wine,)-When did I taste wine last? I've clean forgot:The next may be perhaps on the far Rhine, Or-but what boots to scan my future lot? (Here, take away !) the foolish pang's subdued. Thank God for a light heart and wholesome food!

"'Tis clear, friend Walter, in the civil line,

While these things last thou 'rt laid upon the shelf. (No, no, I can't eat more, good lady mine;

Here's to thy health; finish the flask thyself.)
But what, in truth, should be life's main design?
-For old campaigners have small need of pelf-
Why, to serve God, and fill some useful station,
Where justice and fair play are still the fashion.
"I have it now-New England is my game.

What's Mohawk, Cherokee or Catabaw,
To these rank knaves? Ispeak it to their shame:
Our colonists may prize sound English law;
In any case, my once unerring aim

May save friend Ephraim from a panther's claw.
They're good men, too, and kind; and I respect
And love the good and true of every sect."

Thus ponder'd Walter Childe, the train pursuing Of sweet and bitter thoughts, and back-wood visions; "Happy's the wooing that's not long a-doing,"

So says the adage; and our friend's decisions, Though most times acted on, were not long brewing, And brook'd few after-thoughts, and no revisions. His secret was-I speak it here apart

Small care of self, sound head, and single heart.

"Now for this ball," quoth he, "though, viewed aright, Seems it not tack'd like a fantastic farce on

To a deep tragic drama? Since the night

I pray'd with that poor hind condem'd for arson,

I've seen the custom in a different light.

-God rest his soul!-I'm but a sorry parson, But meant well. Come, just now I want variety; Besides, must take my leave of good society."

END OF CANTO I.

“WHY DID MAJOR MUFFIN KEEP A PARROT?”

66

BY H. HOLL, AUTHOR OF BIDDY TIBS, MARTHA MITES,” etc.

1

THE saying hath it, "Never speak before children!" for children, notwithstanding the wise example set by their fathers and mothers, will speak the truth. Parrots, like children, are of an imitative and truth. loving nature; and in large letters we write upon this page the follow. ing caution,-Never speak before parrots !

Major Muffin-why did he keep a parrot ?-lived next door to Miss Penelope Crab. He was a man of metal! She was a woman also of metallic influence, only of a different quality. The Major, mounted with brass, was lined, alas! with copper; while Penelope, guinea-faced, had golden pockets-pockets which, in the eyes of Muffin, held mines of wealth! Miss Penelope Crab was the only daughter of a fish salesman, who dying a widower at a good old age, left her the mistress of herself and his fortune. She was now able to buy anything she fancied, and she thought of a husband.

Major Muffin had seen service and was now living upon his honour -and half-pay. Being a military man, he swore, of course. Pene. lope, on the contrary, was devout-minded, and being a lady, swore not, except when she condemned the souls of the profane, which she did at least a dozen times a-day. Having now performed this usage of polite society, and introduced to our readers Major Muffin and Miss Penelope Crab, we bequeath them to their mercies, while we amuse our. selves by a chat with their servants.

"That master of yours swears enough to frighten a house down!" Such was the confidential communication conveyed by Deborah-for Penelope's maid had a holy name-over the area rails to Molly, the Major's abigail. "And as for his parrot―

Here a loud chuckling voice told her to be-what nobody wishes to be-and compared her at the same time to a dog. Deborah looked up, and there saw Major Muffin's grey parrot mounted on the outside of his cage, whistling and shouting from the balcony.

"I should like to wring that brute's neck?" said Deborah, as she gave her mop an energetic twirl. The parrot returned the favour by calling her-what she said she wasn't-we think so too; but the major's parrot had a way of calling ladies in the street names they couldn't help thinking personal, and sometimes so familiarly, they thought it must be some. body who knew them.

Look at missus's parrot," cried Deborah; "he's a dove of a Poll, and sings psalms like a Christian; but that Bob of yours "-such was the unpretending name of the major's parrot-"swears as bad as his master or the-" and Deborah coughed; "there ain't many pins to choose between them." And bang went her mat against the area rails, and out flew a cloud of dust, which enveloped a lawyer's clerk, who was passing like a blanket. As soon as this feat was accomplished, Deborah vented a fresh shower of abuse upon Bob, and a fresh chapter of praise was lavished upon the vir tues of her missus's Poll. "If ever a parrot was a saint, her missus's Poll"-Jeremiah by name-" was one!" And no wonder, for Penelope always took him under her cloak to church, where, strange

to say, he never went to sleep, not even during the sermon! "But that nasty swearing brute of a bird," and she shook her fist at Bob, who was quietly cleaning his nails," he ought to have his head twisted off!" Molly, on the contrary, contended that Bob was a good-natured Poll, and tame as a chicken. She confessed to the swearing; but that, she said, was the fault of his "broughtage up." But then he never bit anybody; while Jeremiah, though a saint, was quite as spiteful, and would bite his best friend to the bone. And as for mischief, though a parrot, there never was a monkey like him; for he did more harm in an hour than Bob would in a year, who hopped about the house, played with the cat, and behaved himself like a gentleman, as he was!

The maids, as they could not agree, and servant maids do not always agree,--began to toss their heads, and call each other "ma'am," and in the end descended their area steps in a huff.

As Major Muffin had no other dependence than his half-pay, he could not very well be called a rich man. He was forty, and a bachelor. Penelope was wealthy, and a spinster; while her age might be what a bountiful Providence pleased, for Muffin did not care.Now, strange to say, the Major had taken, we know not why, a mortal dislike to the lady next door,-albeit, he had only seen her once or twice, and that in perspective, at the window,--but still he disliked her. Her name sounded of a ten years' courtship; while her surname, Crab, though a heavenly sign, seemed to him a sign of going backwards. But then her money! Report had trumpeted the thousands she was worth into his ear, and, after some natural qualms of venturing upon matrimony, Muffin determined to lay close siege to his next-door neighbour.

66

Miss Penelope Crab sat in her drawing room; her pious Poll stood meekly in his cage, and blinking his eyes, looked as if thinking of a nap. Penelope laid down her book, "Watts's hymns," and leant back in her chair. Were her thoughts of Major Muffin? He was certainly not a bad-looking man; and, being a military man, and a major, not a bad catch for a fishmonger's daughter. She had often speculated upon the blessing of being married; yet, strange to say, she had never been asked. This undoubtedly argued a want of taste in the gentlemen. Could it be that they thought her too lean, too old, or too holy for their earthly hopes ?-For Penelope was pious, and her sanctity was deep as a well! In fact, Penelope was a walking Evangelical Magazine; and, as she sat in her chair, would have made a splendid illustration" to that most excellent work; for her dark, dull, unmeaning countenance looked as an evangelical portrait always looks-a face of clay moulded with the fingers! Major Muffin was her next door neighbour, and she could not help thinking that she should have no objection to become Mrs. Major Muffin. But then they were utter strangers, they had not so much as spoken to each other! And then again Penelope felt uneasy, when she remembered Deborah vowed that Muffin, though a major, swore like a common trooper. She shuddered, and taking up the book, which the thoughts of Muffin had made her put aside, was soon out of sight of earthly things, and high in the clouds of pious ærostation; yet, strange to say, the words kept jumping about, and, spite of herself, spelt nothing but " Major Muffin." She shut her eyes, and looked again, and as she looked saw "marriage" in capitals, written backwards! It certainly was very strange; and if Major Muffin