"Ha!" cried his comrade, "hast thou found An entrance to the barn?" I have," this poor rat cried-" but God "And, oh! the horrid sight I've seen Steams-heaves-and bursts-and falls! "The air is hot, and foul, and strange "The fallen grain on all sides sprouts "The clotted bodies pant and writhe, He ceased to speak, and sped away Unto the Corn-lord's door, Where now a crowd was kneeling round 66 Petitioning” evermore. But Bruscolo still held his price, And would no help afford; "Oh, let us live!" the crowd still moaned, "Oh, pity us, Corn-lord!" Said Bruscolo-" If fortune frowns On others, she is kind to me; My price I'll keep-and, if thieves come, Call out the soldiery!" Still cried the people-" On our state Great lord of lands, some cheap food grant, But now the poor Rat reached the ground: "God hath cast down the statue proud Of golden Fratricide!" "Thou can'st give nothing !—we can give The curses of the poor, For Heaven, instead of blessing it, Boom! went the roofs from all the barns; Away the roofs were tossed and blown, And Bruscolo in horror fled Towards the wild sea shore !' The clouds of birds down wheeling now, As though they would alight, Screaming in circles o'er his head, Pursue his frantic flight! Into the sea fled Bruscolo ; Still screamed each ghastly kite! Amidst the ruins of his barns Of those strange birds but two returned, Until their ghastly plumage changed, And lovely colours shone. Their young ones flew from isle to isle, With beauty, freedom, hope; And corn-lords never strove again With Nature's laws to cope. MY TEMPTATIONS. BY A POOR MAN. THERE are those who (themselves altogether above want) wonder at the "shocking depravity" of the poor, feel a thrill of pious horror at the idea of a man who pleads poverty as an excuse for dishonesty, and who would not hesitate to affirm, that they would die of starvation before they could commit so great a sin as to appropriate to themselves anything which they might not call their own. Ah! how little can they imagine the feelings of one who has nothing which he can call his own, save the loved ones who are perishing with him! Let such stern moralists (lolling back in their arm-chairs over their wine after dinner) read my simple story: I am a labouring man-my hand is hard and rough; but if suffering could render me callous, my heart would be harder still. In the beginning of the winter, a year or two back, I had saved about five pounds towards our support during the most severe weather-my work being of a description that could not be proceeded with in frost. I had then three children, and Mary (my wife) was shortly about to give birth to another. The season advanced-work began to slacken, but there were still many days on which I could work, and we managed to live without touching my little hoard-little indeed—but I had been a long time in saving it! At last my wife was confined, and five days afterwards a sharp long frost set in. Poor Mary was very ill-dangerously ill; and before the doctors left her, I had to pay them two guineas, and they told me Mary must have warm good clothing and good food. She had both while my money lasted; when it failed, the frost had not broken up. I contrived to get a few occasional jobs, but I knew only one business, and that I could not follow. I applied to my master to advance me a little money; but he had five hundred workmen in his employ, and four out of every five had made the same application-he refused. We went to the pawnbroker next; but we had very little to pledge except our clothes, and they went fast, for my chance work was a mere trifle. I could not have held out so long, but for Mary; she was always so cheerful, that I was ashamed to show myself less patient than she was; and when she gave me potatoes for dinner and no supper she looked so mild and gentle, that I could not complain. But my baby was weak and ill, poor creature! The fountains whence it should have drawn its food were almost dried up, by pain and hunger, and secret so Ow. Mary had been out one day, and had asked me to stay and take care of the children. We had been eighteen hours without food. When she returned, she had a little money in her hand; she came up to me. "James," said she, in her gentle voice, " don't be angry, I've sold something belonging to you-something which I think you were fond of." 66 Something of mine! " Yes-promise me not to be angry." I never could have been angry with her, and I was too glad to see the money not to give such a promise readily. She took off her bonnet (it was a very old one)-she had cut off all her beautiful hair! Angry with her! We were sitting at the window-the children were in bed; the frost had now continued nearly two months, and we were starving; we had not spoken for a long time. 66 Mary," said I, "I have always borne a good character, and I am loath to lose it, but my mind is made up-I must either starve or steal." She tried to reason with me at first-but I was maddened at the sight of her pale, suffering face, and I was dreadfully hungry, I would not listen to her. "James," said she at length, "I declare to you most solemnly that hungry and ill as I am, and much as I grieve to see the children's thin faces, neither they nor I shall touch a morsel of bread that is not honestly come by-and God give me strength to keep my word! I sat down again in my chair-we had no food that night. What does the moralist in the easy chair say to this? Do I not rightly call this simple statement "My Temptations?" J. L. M. THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. CONTAINING THE OPINIONS AND ADVENTURES OF JUNIPER HEDGEHOG, CABMAN, LONDON; AND WRITTEN TO HIS RELATIVES AND ACQUAINTANCE, IN VARIOUS PARTS OF THE WORLD. LETTER XV.-To MISS KITTY HEDGEHOG, MILLINER, PHILADELPHIA, DEAR KITTY,-If I haven't written to you before this, it is because I've had nothing worth ink and paper to send you. I know that you've a mind above politics, and-may you be pardoned for the lightness !—can sleep like a cat in the sun, no matter how much the Church may be in danger. When, however, there's anything stirring among silks and satins, why then your woman's spirit is up, and all the milliner is roused within you. Knowing this, Kitty, I shall treat you with a few lines about a Powdered Ball we 've lately had at Court, when everybody out of compliment, I suppose, to what is called the wisdom of their ancestors, went dressed like their great grandfathers and grandmothers. A huge comfort this to great people in the shades! Dear Queen Charlotte was once again at Court, very flatteringly represented by a fine piece of point-lace worn by the blessed Victoria herself. And dukes, and lords, and generals,—all of 'em sleeping in family lead -were once more walking minuets and dancing Sir Roger de Coverley. Everybody for a time lived more than a hundred years ago; and, as I'm told, felt very happy at going backward even for one night. To go back is with many high folks the greatest proof of wisdom; and therefore among such people the Powdered Ball was considered a glorious stride in the right direction. Only imagine the rapture of a Duke of Newcastle, living even in fancy for a few hours, at any time from 1715 to 1745; a time when there was no Reform Bill; no steam-engines; no railways; no cheap books! Think of the delight of many old gentlemen believing themselves their own grandfathers; quite away from these revolutionary days, and living again in "the good old times!" I've heard though I don't answer for it-that two or three of 'em were so carried away by the thought that, to keep up the happiness as long as they could, they went to bed in their clothes, |