6

But not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done,
The frighted steed he frighted more,
And made him faster run.

Away went Gilpin, and away
Went postboy at his heels,

The postboy's horse right glad to miss
The lumb'ring of the wheels.

Six gentlemen upon the road
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,

With postboy scampering in the rear,
They raised the hue and cry :—

Stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman!'
Not one of them was mute;

And all and each that passed that way—
Did join in the pursuit.

And now the turnpike gates again
Flew open in short space;
The tollmen thinking as before
That Gilpin rode a race.

And so he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town;

Nor stopp'd till where he had got up,
He did again get down.

Now let us sing, long live the king,
And Gilpin long live he;

And, when he next doth ride abroad,
May I be there to see!

Cowper (1731-1800).

a'-the-ist, one who does not believe | u-ni-ver'-sal, common to all

in God

a-miss', wrong

com-plain'-ing, finding fault
in'-stance (v.), to give an example
dis-pro-por'-tion-ed, unsuitable as
regards size

sur-vey', to look at

cas'-u-al, made by chance

cav'-il-ler, one who is always finding fault

des-cry', to notice

spray, the end of a branch
whims, odd fancies

'Methinks the world seems oddly made,
And everything amiss;

6

A dull complaining Atheist said,

As stretched he lay beneath the shade,
And instanced it in this :-

6

Behold,' quoth he, that mighty thing,
A pumpkin large and round,

Is held but by a little string,

Which upwards cannot make it spring,
Nor bear it from the ground.

While on this oak an acorn small,
So disproportioned grows,
That whosoe'er surveys this all,
This universal, casual ball,

Its ill contrivance knows.

My better judgment would have hung
The pumpkin on a tree;
And left the acorn slightly strung,
'Mongst things that on the surface sprung,
And weak and feeble be.'

No more the caviller could say,
Nor further faults descry;
For, upward gazing as he lay,
An acorn loosened from its spray,
Fell down upon his eye.

The wounded part with tears ran o'er,
As punished for that sin:

Fool! if that bough a pumpkin bore,

Thy whimsies would have worked no more, Nor skull have kept them in.

Cowper.

Their history, as the keeper related it, was

this:

It was customary for all who were unable or unwilling to pay their sixpence, to bring a dog or cat as an oblation to the beasts, in lieu of money to the keeper. Among others a fellow had caught up this pretty black spaniel in the streets, and he was accordingly thrown into the cage of the great lion. Immediately the little animal trembled, and shivered, and crouched, and threw itself on its back, and put forth its tongue, and held up its paws in supplicatory attitudes, as an acknowledgement of superior power, and praying for mercy. In the meantime, the lordly brute, instead of devouring it, beheld it with an eye of philosophic inspection. He turned it over with one paw, and then turned it with the other; and smelled to it, and seemed desirous of courting a further acquaintance.

The keeper, on seeing this, brought a large mess of his own family dinner; but the lion kept aloof, and refused to eat, keeping his eye on the dog, and inviting him as it were to be his taster. At length, the little animal's fears being somewhat abated, and his appetite being quickened by the smell of the victuals, he approached slowly, and, with trembling,

ventured to eat.

The lion then advanced gently and began to partake, and they finished their meal very lovingly together.

From this day the strictest friendship commenced between them—a friendship consisting of all possible affection and tenderness on the part of the lion, and of the utmost confidence and boldness on the part of the dog; insomuch that he would lay himself down to sleep within the fangs, and under the jaws, of his terrible patron. A gentleman who had lost the spaniel, and had advertised a reward of two guineas to the finder, at length heard of the adventure, and went to reclaim his dog. You see, Sir,' said the keeper, it would be a great pity to part such loving friends; however, if you insist upon your property, you must even be pleased to take him yourself; it is a task that I would not engage in for five hundred guineas.' The gentleman rose in great wrath, but finally chose to acquiesce, rather than have a personal dispute with the lion.

As Mr. Felton had a curiosity to see the two friends eat together, he sent for twenty pounds of beef, which was accordingly cut in pieces, and put into the cage; when immediately, the little brute, whose appetite happened to be eager at the time, was desirous of making a monopoly of the whole, and putting his paws upon the meat, and grumbling and barking, he audaciously flew in the face of the lion. But the generous creature, instead of being offended with his impotent companion, started back, and seemed terrified at the fury of his attack, nor did he attempt to eat a bit, till his favourite had given permission.

When they were both gorged, the lion stretched and turned himself, and lay down in an evident posture for repose, but this his sportive companion