66

"What's happen'd? what's happen'd? Fatch it out!" exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, what's happen'd? Who's there? who's " 'vy, man, you should ride with it at your there? Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!" osses' side. Have you never a couple screamed half-a-dozen voices at once, loup to your saddle?-run a bit of vipcord rushing with candles into the gallery of through his suout, and let the world see the swimming-bath. the wonders we've done-you've no proper pride about you! There now," continued he, having adjusted the head at Pigg's saddle side, “let the world see it— don't let your coat lap hang over it."

"Vot's 'appen'd?" replied Mr. Jorrocks, blobbing and striking out for hard life with his white cotton night-capped head half under water; "Vy, I'm drownin'.'Elp! 'elp! 'elp, I say! Oh, vill nobody come to 'elp?"

"Throw out the rope! throw out the rope!" cried half-a-dozen voices.

"No; get a boat," responded Mr. Jorrocks, thinking there was little choice between hanging and drowning. "Oh dear, I'm sinkin', I'm sinking'!"

Thus Mr. Jorrocks and Pigg proceeded at a foot's pace, relating their mutual adventures. Before they had got to the end of their stories, who but Charles should pop upon them from a by-road, and the three having got together again, they entered Handley Cross in triumphant procession, as though they had never parted. Rumors of the run had been rife all the morning, but in what direction it had been, nobody could tell. The stables and kennel were besieged by inquirers, and Mr. Fribbleton, the man-milliner, who They then pulled him out of the bath, edited the "Paul Pry," having been and with great care and condolence put granted an audience, managed from Mr. him to bed again. He was still rather Jorricks's account to manufacture the foldrunk at least, not quite sober; for when lowing article for the second edition of pressed to exchange his wet shirt for a dry his paper. It was headedone, he hugged himself in it, exclaiming "No, no; they'll worry it! They'll BRILLIANT RUN WITH MR. JORROCKS'S

"Come to this side," cried one, "I'll lend you a hand out"; thereupon Mr. Jorrocks struck out with a last desperate effort, and dashed his head against the wall.

worry it!"

*

"Your master's just gone through," said Anthony Smith at the Barrow Hill Gate.

"Mar maister!" replied Pigg. "what, Squire Jorrocks?"

"Yeas," said the man, "he was axing if I could tell him what became of his hounds yesterday."

"Indeed," replied Pigg," give me fourpence and a ticket."

and proceeded

HOUNDS!

"As this unrivalled pack were taking their daily exercise on the Summerton road, accompanied by the huntsman, their worthy master, and his friend, Mr. Charles Stubbs, a large dog-fox suddenly crossed before them, with which the pack went away in gallant style, despite all efforts to stop them, as they were advertised to meet at the Round-of-Beef and Carrots to-morrow. The place the fox so suddenly popped upon them was just at the four

On Pigg trotted as well as he could with a pack of hounds without a whipper-mile-stone, near the junction on the in, and catching a view of Mr. Jorrocks's broad red back rounding a bend of the road, he gave a puff of his horn that acted like magic.

Mr. Jorrocks stopped as though he were shot.

Turning short back, he espied his huntsman and the hounds, and great was the joy and exultation at meeting.

Killed him did you say!" exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, in ecstasies, "vere's his

brush?"

"A, sink 'em, they'd spoil'd it," replied Pigg, "afore iver I gat te them-but ar's getten his head i' my pocket!"

Appledove road, and as there were some coursers on Arthington open fields, it is conjectured bold Reynard having been suddenly disturbed by the long dogs, had come upon the hounds in a somewhat ruffled state of mind, without dreaming of his danger. However, he was quickly convinced that there was some, by the cry of his redoubtable pursuers, and the shortness of his start caused him to put his best leg foremost; and setting his head for Wallaton Plantations, he went straight as an arrow toward them, passing near the main earths on Thoresby Moor, and

"It's an old sayin' and a true 'un, that a bad beginnin' often makes a good endin.' We lost Binjamin at startin'; the little beggar was caught in the spikes of a pochay and carried a stage out of townteach him to walk up street for futur'. Howsomever, off we set without him, and a tremendous run was the result. I send you the 'Pry,' and you can judge for yourself; the first part, about the find, must be taken 'cum grano salis,' with a leetle Quieanne pepper, as Pomponius Ego would say. We meant to have a private rehearsal, as it were, and got a fiveact comedy instead of a three. Indeed, it were like to have been a tragedy.

going through the low end of the planta- ['ounds have the credit of what they do. tion, where they run out into a belt. You say Dormio will spice the articles up "Here he was chased by a woodman's with learning and Latin. Latin be 'anged! dog, and the hounds came to a momentary-Greek, too, if there's any grown now-acheck; but Mr. Jorrocks, being well up, days. Now for the run. made a scientific cast forward, and getting upon the grass, they hit off the scent at a meuse, and went at a racing pace down to Crowland, through Lady Cross Park, leaving Bilson a little on the right, and so on to Langford Plantations, from thence by King's Gate to Hookem-Snivey, and on by Staunton-Snivey to the Downs, crossing at Depedean, leaving the Windmill to the right, and the Smugglers' Cave on the left. Night and a hurricane now came on; but, despite all impediments, this truly gallant pack realised their fox at the foot of Gunston Crags. A few more minutes would have thrown the mantle of protection over the varmint, for the crags are strongholds, from whence foxes are seldom or never dislodged. It was the biggest Reynard that ever was seen, and the tag of his tail was uncommonly large. "The distance gone over could not have been less than five-and-twenty miles; and altogether it was the very finest run ever encountered in the annals of fox-hunting, Mr. Jorrocks went like a bird, and earned a title to a niche among the crack riders of England.

"The hounds lay out all night, but have arrived at Handley Cross in very fair order; and we trust this run is a prelude to a long career of brilliant sport that we shall have the good fortune to record under the auspices of their most sporting master, and his equally renowned and huntsman energetic Scotch Charles Pigg.'

"Somehow or other I got to the Earl of Bramber's, where there was a great spread, and I had a good blow-out and a solemnish drink. Either I walked in my sleep and fell into a pond or some one pitched me into one, and I was as near drowned as a toucher. Howsomever, I got out, and werry attentive people were to me, givin' me brandy, and whiskey, and negus, and all sorts of things. I slept pretty well after it, nevertheless; but when I awoke to get up I seemed to be in quite a different room-no bell, no lookin'glass, no washstand, no towels, no nothin', but my 'unting clothes were laid nice and orderly. I dressed, and found my way to the break fast-room, when sich a roar of laughter greeted my entrance! Still, they were all werry purlite; but I observed, whenever a servant came in, he nearly split his sides with laughin'. Well, jist as I was goin' away I caught a "Dear Bowker: sight of myself in a glass, and, oh, crikey! "Yours to hand, and note the contents. my face was painted broad red and yellow We've had a buster! Three hours with- stripes, zebra-fashion! I couldn't be out a check and a kill! Should have angry, for it was so werry well done; but been 'appy to have sent old 'Nunquam it certainly was werry disrespectful to an Dormio* an account, but it was a bye on *M. F. H. Have no great fancy for lords the sly, and no one being out, there are-werry apt to make first a towel and then no names to bring in. It's soapin' chaps a dish-clout on one. But enough of that. cleverly wot makes a run read. Howsomever, I hopes to have lots of clippers for him to record before long. Not that I cares about fame, but it's well to let the

Mr. Jorrocks wrote the following letter to Bill Bowker:

*An eye, with " nunquam dormio" round, is the

crest and motto of "Bell's Life."

"I hope the Slender has not been silly enough to shoot an exciseman; they are clearly not game. It will be haukward for them both if he has: course he has too many legal friends not to get the best ad

* Master of Fox Hounds.

vice. I'm sorry to hear about Susan's legs-they were a pair of uncommon neat ones, certainlie; all the symmetry of Westris's without the smallness. I don't think blisterin' would do them any good; rest-rest-with occasional friction: handrubbin', in fact, is the best thing.

"Charley's quite well, and slept last night at a lunatic's, a poor chap wot went mad about 'unting. You needn't send him none of your nasty 'baccy down here, for I don't stand smokin'. As you say Snarle's business has fallen off, you'll have fewer common forms to copy and more time for letter-writing. Tip us a stave when you've nothin' to do, and believe me yours to serve.

"JOHN JORRocks.

To fill it, and would cost, however bought,
A plaguy price.

'Now, as I only want them for their looks,
It might, on second thoughts, be just as
good,

And cost me next to nothing, if the books
Were made of wood.

[DOM TOMAS YRIARTE, an eminent Spanish poet, was born at Teneriffe, 1750. He is chiefly known to English readers by his Fabulas Literarias' (Literary Fables) published 1782. These fables have been frequentlyIt shall be so. I'll give the shaven deal translated in this country and in America. The latest, A coat of paint-a colourable dress, and by far the most successful translation, is that by To look like calf or vellum, and conceal Mr. Robert Rockliff, published in Liverpool, 1854. Its nakedness. Mr. Rockliff has caught the happy manner and free versification of his author in no ordinary degree, andAnd gilt and letter'd with the author's

his complete collection of Yriarte's Fables is one of the most excellent translations from a foreign language

name,

Whatever is most excellent and rare

which has appeared of late years. Yriarte died in 1798.] Shall be, or seem to be ('tis all the same)

A COUNTRY Squire, of greater wealth than wit
(For fools are often bless'd with fortune's
smile),

Had built a splendid house, and furnish'd it
In splendid style.

Assembled there.'

The work was done; the simulated hoards
Of wit and wisdom round the chamber

stood,

In bindings some; and some, of course, in
boards,
Where all were wood.

From bulky folios down to slender twelves,
The choicest tomes in many an even row,
Display'd their letter'd backs upon the
shelves,
A goodly show.

With such a stock, which seemingly sur-
pass'd

The best collection ever form'd in Spain, What wonder if the owner grew at last Supremely vain?

What wonder, as he paced from shelf to shelf,

And conn'd their titles, that the Squire
began,

Despite his ignorance, to think himself
Á learned man?

Let every amateur, who merely looks

"When the sly monkey called me dunce,
I entertained some slight misgiving;
But, Pig, thy praise has proved at once
That dancing will not earn my living."

Let every candidate for fame

Rely upon this wholesome rule:—
Your work is bad, if wise men blame;
But worse, if lauded by a fool.

THOMAS DE YRIARTE.

THE DEAD ALIVE.

[PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER, the greatest lyric poet that France has produced, (he has been called the Burns of France,) was born at Paris in 1780. The influence of his songs on the public mind during the

Revolutions of 1830 and 1848 is now matter of history. Speaking of his songs, Goethe says, 'They aro so full of mature cultivation, of grace, wit, and subtlest irony; they are so artistically finished, and their language is so masterly, that he is admired not only by

To backs and bindings, take the hint and France, but by the whole of civilized Europe.'

In the LIBRARY OF WIT AND HUMOR, we, of course, can only exhibit the humorous side of Béranger's muse. His perception of the ludicrous was undoubtedly great, but it is in the composition of political and patriotic lyrics that his greatest power lay. He died in 1857, leaving an Autobiography, which was afterwards published.

A volume of excellent translations from Béranger, by Robert B. Brough, appeared in London in 1856, and from it we have extracted the following poem, as also that of the King of Yvetot.']

WHEN a bore gets hold of me,
Dull and over-bearing,

Be so kind as pray for me,
I'm as dead as herring.
When the thrusts of Pleasure glib
In my sides are sticking,
Poking fun at every rib,
I'm alive and kicking.

When a snob his £ s. d.

Jingles in his breeches,
Be so kind as pray for me,
I'm as dead as ditches.
When a birthday's champagne-corks
Round my ears are clicking,
Marking time with well oil'd works,
I'm alive and kicking.

Kings and their supremacy
Occupy the table,
Be so kind as pray for me,
I'm as dead as Abel.