"A

back no money," cried Moses again. "I have laid it all out in a bargain, and here it is," pulling out a bundle from his breast; "here they are; a gross of green spectacles, with silver rims and shagreen cases."-" A gross of green spectacles!" repeated my wife, in a faint voice. "And you have parted with the colt, and brought us back nothing but a gross of green paltry spectacles!""Dear mother," cried the boy, "why won't you listen to reason? I had them at a dead bargain, or I should not have bought them. The silver rims alone will sell for double the money,"-" A fig for the silver rims," cried my wife, in a passion; “I dare swear they won't sell for above half the money at the rate of broken silver, five shillings an ounce."-" You need be under no uneasiness," cried I," about selling the rims, for they are not worth sixpence; for I perceive they are only copper varnished over."-" What!" cried my wife, "not silver! the rims not silver? ""No," cried I, "no more silver than your sauce-pan."-“ And so," returned she, "we have parted with the colt, and have only got a gross of green spectacles, with copper rims and shagreen cases? A murrain take such trumpery! The blockhead has been imposed upon, and should have known his company better."-" There, my dear," cried I," you are wrong; he should not have known them at all."-"Marry, hang the idiot!" returned she, "to bring me such stuff; if I had them I would throw them into the fire."-"There again you are wrong, my dear," cried I; "for though they be copper, we will keep them by us, as copper spectacles, you know, are better than nothing."

(GOLDSMITH: The Vicar of Wakefield)

VAGABONDS

We are two travelers, Roger and I.
Roger's my dog.- Come here, you scamp.
Jump for the gentleman, mind your eye!
Over the table,- look out for the lamp!-
The rogue is growing a little old;

Five years we've tramped through wind and weather,
And slept out doors when nights were cold,
And ate and drank - and starved

together.

We've learned what comfort is, I tell you!
A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin,
A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow,

The paw he holds up there has been frozen),
Plenty of catgut for my fiddle

(This out-door business is bad for strings), Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, And Roger and I set up for kings!

No, thank you, Sir,- I never drink;
Roger and I are exceedingly moral,-
Aren't we, Roger? see him wink!

Well, something hot, then, we won't quarrel.
He's thirsty, too see him nod his head?

What a pity, Sir, that dogs can't talk
He understands every word that's said,-
And he knows good milk from water and chalk.

The truth is, Sir, now I reflect,

I've been so sadly given to grog, I wonder I've not lost the respect (Here's to you, Sir!) even of my dog.

But he sticks by, through thick and thin;
And this old coat with its empty pockets,
And rags that smell of tobacco and gin,
He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets.

There isn't another creature living

Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving,

To such a miserable, thankless master! No, Sir!—see him wag his tail and grin! By George! it makes my old eyes water! That is, there's something in this gin

That chokes a fellow. But no matter!

We'll have some music, if you are willing,

And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, Sir!) Shall march a little.- Start, you villain!

Stand straight! 'Bout face! Salute your officer! Put up that paw! Dress! Take your rifle!

(Some dogs have arms, you see!) Now hold your Cap while the gentleman gives a trifle

To aid a poor old patriot soldier.

(TROWBRIDGE: The Vagabonds)

THE DOVER MAIL COACH

The last burst carried the mail to the summit of the hill. The horses stopped to breathe again, and the guard got down to skid the wheel for the descent, and open the coach door to let the passengers in.

"Tst! Joe!" cried the coachman in a warning voice, looking down from his box.

"What do you say, Tom?"

They both listened.

"I say a horse at a canter coming up, Joe."

99

"I say a horse at a gallop, Tom," returned the guard, leaving his hold of the door, and mounting nimbly to his place. "Gentlemen! In the king's name, all of you! With this hurried adjuration, he cocked his blunderbuss, and stood on the offensive.

The passenger booked by this history, was on the coach-step, getting in; the two other passengers were close behind him, and about to follow. He remained on the step, half in the coach, and half out of it; they remained in the road below him. They all looked from the coachman to the guard, and from the guard to the coachman, and listened. The coachman looked back, and the guard looked back, and even the emphatic leader pricked up his ears and looked back, without contradicting.

The stillness consequent on the cessation of the rumbling and laboring of the coach, added to the stillness of the night, and made it very quiet indeed. The panting of the horses communicated a tremulous motion to the coach, as if it were in a state of agitation. The hearts of the passengers beat loud enough perhaps to be heard; but at any rate, the quiet pause was audibly expressive of people out of breath, and holding the breath, and having the pulses quickened by expectation.

The sound of a horse at a gallop came fast and furiously up the hill.

"So-ho!" the guard sang out, as loud as he could roar. "Yo there! Stand! I shall fire!"

The pace was suddenly checked, and, with much splashing and floundering a man's voice called from the mist, "Is that the Dover mail?"

"Never you mind what it is!" the guard retorted. "What are you?"

"Is that the Dover mail? "
"Why do you want to know?”

"I want a passenger, if it is."
"What passenger?"

"Mr. Jarvis Lorry."

(DICKENS: A Tale of Two Cities)

THE LURE OF THE CITY

Had I but plenty of money, money enough and to spare, The house for me, no doubt, were a house in the city

square;

Ah, such a life, such a life, as one leads at the window

there!

Something to see, by Bacchus, something to hear, at least!

There, the whole day long, one's life is a perfect

feast;

While up at a villa one lives, I maintain it, no more than a beast.

Well now, look at our villa! stuck like the horn of a bull Just on a mountain-edge as bare as the creature's skull,

Save a mere shag of a bush with hardly a leaf to pull! I scratch my own sometimes, to see if the hair's turned wool.

But the city, oh the city- the square with the houses! -Why?

They are stone-faced, white as a curd, there's something to take the eye!