Then, reeling for the light, they steer,
These heroes of my strain;
But whence they came, I, with your leave,
In one word may explain-
They staggered from a bridal feast
With all they could contain.

The hut is reach'd; a man appears
All clad in sullied brown,
Who eyes our two benighted friends

With dark suspicious frown.
They begg'd for beds, till rising day
Should dawn to light them on their way.

"Indeed, to tell honours true,
your
Of beds I've none to spare,

But solace such as straw may yield
You're welcome here to share.
If that can please you, soon you'll find
A truss and chamber to your mind.

Most piteously upon his paunch

The parson cast his eye; "How now, thou fat rotundity,

On straw couch wilt thou lie ?""Sub sole nil perfectum est,'

999

Said Bakel" here I'll take my rest."

He said, and soon was fast asleep.
The parson look'd around
For peg to hang his wig upon,
But no one could be found;
Himself upon the straw he cast,
His wig upon the ground.

Between the guests and host alone
A thin partition stood:

They heard him sing an evening hymn,
Then pray for faith and food;
And now the godly service done,
Unto his spouse he thus began

"My dear, as soon as morning dawns,
The black ones I shall slay;
They will be, when I think again,
Much fatter than I say.

Oh, how that bullet-round one will-
He makes my very chops distil!”

"Ah, Bakel! do you sleep? or hear
These cannibals declare

That, when the morning sun ascends,
On us they mean to fare?
Oh, from this horrid murderous den
Were I but out alive again!"

"Proh dolor, Sir; but still there's hope, We're not in Charon's barge;

Still may some good Convivia
Your little paunch enlarge.
Nay, ope your eyes,-look here, and see
A window; from it leap with me."

"Yea! such a goose-quill thing as you
May leap, and dread no harm;
But were I such a leap to take,
I'd die with pure alarm;
This ponderous body would but drop
Into Death's open arm."

Now Bakel used his eloquence
To urge his friend to fly ;
He painted dangers great and dread
If they should longer lie;
Till he took courage from despair,

The unknown dreadful leap to dare.
But still there was a point to fix,

Which first the leap should try;
Each urged the other, and again

Replied, "Oh no, not I.”
At last our friend the pedagogue
Down like a bird did fly.

He lighted salva venia,.
Upon a hill of dung,

And bounding from the dirt unhurt
Like dunghill cock he sprung;
But like a cliff from mountain cast,
Fell the fat parson, and stuck fast!

He sank up to the waist, nor could
Move on a single hair;

While Bakel cursed and scampered round,

In impotent despair;

Meantime the roof poured torrents down On the poor parson's naked crown.

Now Bakel found all efforts vain
To
ope the dunghill's side ;

And though his friend there still had lain,
No help could he provide.

At last a powerful lever's found;

With it he heaves him from the ground.

But ah, how adverse is their fate!
For now they found a court,
Whose towering walls and barred gate
Cut further egress short:

Thus fruitless all these dangers run
The dreadful cannibals to shun!

Now they prepare their hearts to sing
A "valet" ere they die,
And only seek a sheltering roof,
Till then to keep them dry.
Experience tells we best may claim
Success, if humble be our aim.

So found the candidates for death
A shelter in their need;

It was a hovel near a shade

Where cattle used to feed.
It chanced that in that hole, his swine
Our host, while feeding, did confine.

But they had burst their little door,
And so had stole away,

And in the garden with their snouts
Did hold their merry play;
While in their place our pious friends
Most fervently did pray.

"Oh think, dear Bakel, that the grave
Is but the gate of life;

There beggars equal mighty kings;
There ends all mortal strife;
The injured slave feels not the thong,
Nor drags his weary chain along."

"Ah, yes, how truly says the bard, Si hora mortis ruit

Is fit Irus subito,

Qui modo Cræsus fuit."
Thus spent they all the hours of night
Till dawn the little court did light.

Now hideously the door did creak,
From which came out the man,
Whose eye beam'd murder: and he straight
To whet his knife began;

And mutter'd as he rubb'd away,

"Ye black ones, ye shall die to-day!"

The host a Flesher was by trade,
And spoke still of his swine,
While all these dreadful thoughts beset
The Teacher and Divine;
Who fell into the odd mistake,

That he their lives design'd to take.
So forth he stretch'd his hand to draw
The swine from out their hole :-
The first thing that he seized upon
Was Bakel's thickened sole;
He cried in terror and affright,

"The Devil! oh, ye powers of light!"

Now was their foolish blunder clear;
They show'd themselves in day;
And soon the Flesher's deadly fears
And dread were chased away.
A hearty breakfast crown'd the board,
And laughter loudly at it roar'd.

At parting all swore solemnly
The blunder to conceal,
But lately when I made a feast
Of venison and veal,
The parson in a merry mood
The whole truth did reveal.

CORINNA AT THE CAPITOL.

MRS. MARIE J. FOTHERBY (MARIE J. EWEN). THERE were footsteps on the Corso before the purple dawn,

And gatherings in the Forum ere the rosy blush of morn,

Loud voices round the Capitol, and on the marble stair A breathless crowd assembled, as for a triumph there. The chimes of San Giovanni, how merrily they ring! As if to all the city round a soul of joy to bring; There's noise of many chariots, and sounds of tramping

feet,

And horses well caparison'd, and minstrels in the street. What mean the balconies, all hung with tapestry so fine? And why are garlands wreathed around the Arch of Constantine?

What mean those banners streaming bright, o'er tower and glittering dome,

Ye ladies fair, and gentlemen, that throng the streets of Rome!

It is a day of triumph, and the brightest of its kind, The victory of genius-the "triumph of the mind."