The bull, prepared with horns to gore,
The cat with claws, the tusky boar,
And all the canine breed.
In social compact thus combined,
Together dwelt the beasts of prey;
Their murderous weapons all resigned,
And vowed each other not to slay.
Among them Reynard thrust his phiz;
Not hoof, nor horn, nor tusk was his,
For warfare all unfit;
He whispered to the royal dunce,
And gained a settlement at once;
His weapon was,—his wit.

One summer, by some fatal spell,
(Phoebus was peevish for some scoff,)
The plague upon that city fell,

And swept the beasts by thousands off.
The lion, as became his part,
Loved his own people from his heart,
And taking counsel sage,

His peerage summoned to advise
And offer up a sacrifice,

To soothe Apollo's rage.

Quoth lion, we are sinners all,
And even it must be confessed,
If among sheep I chance to fall,-
I, I am guilty as the rest.
To me the sight of lamb is curst,
It kindles in my throat a thirst,-
I struggle to refrain,—

Poor innocent! his blood so sweet!
His flesh so delicate to eat!

I find resistance vain.

'Now to be candid, I must own

The sheep are weak and I am strong,

But when we find ourselves alone,

The sheep have never done me wrong. And, since I purpose to reveal

All my offences, nor conceal

One trespass from your view;

My appetite is made so keen,

That with the sheep the time has been
I took, the shepherd too.

'Then let us all our sins confess,
And whosesoe'er the blackest guilt,
To ease my people's deep distress,
Let his atoning blood be spilt.
My own confession now you hear,
Should none of deeper dye appear,
Your sentence freely give,
And if on me should fall the lot,
Make me the victim on the spot;
And let my people live.'

The council with applauses rung,

To hear the Codrus of the wood;
Though still some doubt suspended hung,
If he would make his promise good,-
Quoth Reynard,- Since the world was made,
Was ever love like this displayed?

Let us like subjects true

Swear, as before your feet we fall,
Sooner than you should die for all,
We all will die for you.

'But please your majesty, I deem,
Submissive to your royal grace,
You hold in far too high esteem
That paltry, poltroon, sheepish race;
For oft, reflecting in the shade,
I ask myself why sheep were made
By all-creating power?

And howsoe'er I tax my mind,
This the sole reason I can find,
For lions to devour.

'And as for eating now and then,

As well the shepherd as the sheep,-
How can that braggart breed of men

Expect with you the peace to keep?
'Tis time their blustering boast to stem,
That all the world was made for them,
And prove creation's plan;

Teach them by evidence profuse
That man was made for lion's use,

Not lions made for man.'

And now the noble peers begin,

And, cheered with such examples bright, Disclosing each his secret sin,

Some midnight murder brought to light,
Reynard was counsel for them all,
No crime the assembly could appal,
But he could botch with paint:
Hark! as his honied accents roll,
Each tiger is a gentle soul:

Each blood-hound is a saint.

When each had told his tale in turn,

The long-eared beast of burden came
And meekly said, 'my bowels yearn

To make confession of my shame;
But I remember on a time

I passed, not thinking of a crime,
A haystack on my way:

His lure some tempting devil spread,
I stretched across the fence my head,
And cropped,-a lock of hay.'

'Oh, monster! villain!' Reynard cried,—
'No longer seek the victim, sire;
Nor why your subjects thus have died,

To expiate Apollo's ire.'

The council with one voice decreed;

All joined to execrate the deed,

'What, steal another's grass!'

The blackest crime their lives could show,
Was washed as white as virgin snow;

The victim was,-The Ass.

As a specimen of the prose, we extract the conclusion of the Modern Job.' The hero of this little tale, Mr. Evelyn, like his ancient prototype, is suddenly reduced, by a 'concurrence of calamitous circumstances,' from affluence to a bare competency; upon which, however, he contrives to live, with his family, in a retired situation in the country, with some degree of comfort and even elegance. This excites first the astonishment, and then the envy of the gossips of Tattleborough where the scene is laid; who can in no other way account for Mr. Evelyn's incomprehensible resources, but by supposing him to have discovered the Philosopher's Stone. After suffering a good deal of uneasiness on the subject, the gossips finally conclude to consult Moll Pitcher, and obtain her advice as to the course they ought to pursue. The passage we extract, and which forms the conclusion of the tale, contains some

account of this person, who, as many of our readers are aware, was a real character, together with the oracle she delivered to the Tattleborough gossips, including an explanation of the nature of the Philosopher's Stone.

'Moll Pitcher, or, as she is still called in the neighborhood where she resided, Molly Pitcher, was no ordinary woman. Her grandfather possessed the gift of divination; that is, the tough old Marblehead seaman (for such he was) could tell when it was going to storm, almost as sure as the almanac; and was too well acquainted with the roguish boys about town, not to give a pretty shrewd guess, when Captain Kingsbury's moses-boat was carried off, who was in the mischief. Old John Diamond, for that was his name, had also been a piece of a merry good-hearted wag in his youth; and the bare glimpse of a tidy petticoat always set his heart to thumping in his broad weather-beaten bosom. When the pretty girls came to get their fortunes told by old John Diamond, he was apt to be a long time puzzling about their plump little hands before he could make out the lines to his satisfaction; and never failed to give them the promise of having a handsome sweetheart. John's liberality on this point, and his known willingness at all times to take a commutation of his fee in a hearty smack, established his character as a soothsayer from Sandy Bay round to Pulling Point. After lying in abeyance one generation, the gift revived in his granddaughter Mary, the renowned Moll Pitcher. Mary Diamond in her youth was beautiful; she had a pair of eyes as bright as her name. She married, had one son, who was lost at sea, and soon after was left a widow and childless, and Mary's lonely heart drooped within her. She was intelligent beyond her station in life; shrewd, thoughtful, and romantic. She lived within the roar of the resounding sea; her haunts, in her lonely rambles, were among the caves of the ocean; and she loved at the cold grey dawn to climb the lofty rocks which overhung her humble cabin, and look down upon the village of Lynn, the heaving shore, and out upon the eternal waters. The busy and prosperous denizens of the world did not comprehend poor Molly's mood, which shaded off at last, perhaps, into heart-stricken melancholy. At times she certainly wandered. Her descent from John Diamond was not forgotten. She was poor; she was lonely; she was contemplative, and saw more of the movements of things than many gifted with more worldly wisdom. In short, poor Molly, by degrees, was made to be a fortune-teller, and a diviner, in spite of herself. For a long time she disclaimed the character, and denied herself to many who sought her. This was ascribed to churlishness, and a de

sire to extort more generous pay. The more she shunned resort, the more she was visited; till the poor creature at last was obliged to tell fortunes in self-defence. But it speaks volumes in Molly's favor, that she was never accused of being in league with evil spirits; nor were the disasters suffered by her neighbors, in field, or fold, laid at her door. In truth there was nothing terrific in her mode of divination or attendance. A faithful tabby cat was her only companion, and poor Molly saw all things (which she saw at all) in the bottom of her tea-cup. Her humble dwelling on the road to Salem was easily identified, by two enormous bones of a whale, which her opposite neighbor had set up as gate-posts. Many a respectable tradesman, farmer, and shipmaster, from the neighboring country, half-ashamed to be caught inquiring for Moll Pitcher, would express a curiosity, as he drove into town, to see the bones of the whale, which he understood were set up somewhere in these parts.

'Mr. Evelyn knew Molly well. His wife and he had often encountered her on her solitary rambles about the rocks. He had often bidden her to his house; but she never entered any habitation but her own. He gave her the freest range of his grounds and woods; conversed with her about her own affairs; entered into her feelings; and discovered, that when she was not bewildered, she was an uncommonly shrewd and observant person. In return, he opened himself freely to her, spoke of his pursuits, tastes, and intentions; and in this way obtained her confidence and friendship. Since his misfortunes, his new abode was at a greater distance from Molly's humble retreat; but he had nevertheless met her twice at the rocks, when he had been there on business, and had conversed with her unreservedly on the change of his circumstances, and his present situation. The calm and quiet philosophy of Mr. Evelyn struck the key-note in Molly's intellectual system. The harsh, money-making, selfish world irritated, perplexed and well-nigh crazed her; and she wept tears of joy, when she witnessed the elastic and unpretending cheerfulness with which James bore his troubles.

"And the dear Lady," said she, the last time she had met Mr. Evelyn," how does she bear the hard change? It's a cruel world for the poor soul to struggle through, without the thing they all love, yea worship, without the money.'

"Emily bears her change of circumstances," said James, "like an angel. She is the same kind, uncomplaining being, you knew her here; not a murmur or a sigh escapes her."

""Too good for the world," said Molly, "too good for the world! They will tease and torment her. And now she is poor, should she become a lone and friendless creature like