Laura grew very faint with anxiety and heat. She heard the spectators talking to each other. "They say," observed one, "that it is with great difficulty he was persuaded to the calling -it has been four hundred years in the family -he took himself away, but came back when he heard the fees were augmented-you know he gets all the clothes." "There's poor cousin Jack," quoth the attorney: "how pale he is!" Laura looked. To the side of cousin Jack, who was about to be hanged, moved a wellknown figure. "The Marquis de Tête Perdu!" cried the lawyer aghast. "My lover! my lover!" screamed Laura. "My eye! that's the hereditary hangman!" said a by-stander with open mouth. "Hereditary hangman!" said an English lord, who was by chance an attendant at the spectacle. "Hereditary hangman! -what a burlesque on the peerage!" Is it a burlesque truly, or is the one about as wise as the other? THE PAUPER'S DRIVE. There's a grim one-horse hearse in a jolly round trot; To the churchyard a pauper is going, I wot; The road it is rough, and the hearse has no springs, And hark to the dirge that the sad driver sings:Rattle his bones over the stones; He's only a pauper, whom nobody owns. Oh! where are the mourners? Alas! there are none; He has left not a gap in the world now he's gone; Not a tear in the eye of child, woman, or man;To the grave with his carcass as fast as you can. Rattle his bones over the stones; He's only a pauper, whom nobody owns. What a jolting, and creaking, and splashing, and din! The whip how it cracks, and the wheels how they spin! How the dirt right and left o'er the hedges is hurled! The pauper at length makes a noise in the world. Rattle his bones over the stones; He's only a pauper, whom nobody owns. Poor pauper defunct! he has made some approach To gentility, now that he's stretched in a coach; He's taking a drive in his carriage at last, But it will not be long if he goes on so fast! Rattle his bones over the stones; He's only a pauper, whom nobody owns. THOMAS NOEL. KING ARTHUR'S FEAST. [Right Hon. John Hookham Frere, born in Norfolk, He filled 1769; died at Malta, 7th January, 1846. several important diplomatic posts. In his school-boy days he evinced much poetical talent, and during the controversy about Chatterton's Rowley poems he produced a translation of the Saxon poem on the victory of Athelstan at Brunnenburgh into the English of the fourteenth century which astonished everybody. He was associated with Canning in the publication of the Anti-Jacobin, to which he contributed many pithy satires. But his most notable flight was the "Prospectus and Specimen of an intended National Work, to comprise the most Interesting Particulars relating to King Arthur and his Round Table." This was supposed to be written by William and Robert Whistlecraft, of Stowmarket, Suffolk, harness and collar makers. It was a brilliant jeu d'esprit, displaying flashes of poetry which made many regret that Mr. Frere did not devote more of his time to literature. But it has a special literary interest for us as being the first introduction into English of the Italian style of composition, which Byron afterwards rendered so famous by his Beppo and Don Juan. The latter, writing to Mr. Murray, frankly acknowledged his debt to Mr. Frere, and we are glad to be able to give our readers an extract from the Whistlecraft verses.] The Great King Arthur made a sumptuous feast, And held his royal Christmas at Carlisle, And thither came the vassals, most and least, From every corner of this British isle; And all were entertain'd, both man and beast, According to their rank, in proper style; The steeds were fed and litter'd in the stable, The ladies and the knights sat down to table. The bill of fare (as you may well suppose) With truffles, and ragouts, and various crimes: And therefore, from the original in prose I shall arrange the catalogue in rhymes: They served up salmon, venison, and wild boars By hundreds, and by dozens, and by scores. Hogsheads of honey, kilderkins of mustard, Muttons, and fatted beeves, and bacon swine; Herons and bitterns, peacock, swan and bustard, Teal, mallard, pigeons, widgeons, and in fine Plum-puddings, pancakes, apple-pies and custard: And therewithal they drank good Gascon wine, With mead, and ale, and cider of our own; For porter, punch, and negus were not known. The noise and uproar of the scullery tribe, All pilfering and scrambling in their calling, Was past all powers of language to describeThe din of manful oaths and female squalling: The sturdy porter, huddling up his bribe, Outeries, and cries of order, and contusions, Beggars and vagabonds, blind, lame, and sturdy, Minstrels and singers with their various airs, The pipe, the tabor, and the hurdy-gurdy, Jugglers and mountebanks with apes and bears, Continued from the first day to the third day, An uproar like ten thousand Smithfield fairs; There were wild beasts and foreign birds and creatures, And Jews and foreigners with foreign features. All sorts of people there were seen together, All sorts of characters, all sorts of dresses; The fool with fox's tail and peacock's feather, Pilgrims, and penitents, and grave burgesses; The country people with their coats of leather, Vintners and victuallers with cans and messes; Grooms, archers, varlets, falconers and yeomen, Damsels and waiting-maids, and waiting-women. But the profane, iudelicate amours, The vulgar, unenlightened conversation Of minstrels, menials, courtezans, and boors, (Although appropriate to their meaner station) Would certainly revolt a taste like yours; We must take care in our poetic cruise, And never hold a single tack too long; Therefore my versatile, ingenious muse, Takes leave of this illiterate, low-bred throng, Intending to present superior views, Which to genteeler company belong, And show the higher orders of society Behaving with politeness and propriety. And certainly they say, for fine behaving King Arthur's court has never had its match; True point of honour, without pride or braving, Strict etiquette for ever on the watch: There manners were refined and perfect-saving Some modern graces, which they could not catch, Showed them prepared, on proper provocation, The ladies look'd of an heroic race— At first a general likeness struck your eye, Tall figures, open features, oval face, Large eyes, with ample eyebrows arched and high; Their manners had an odd, peculiar grace, Neither repulsive, affable, nor shy, Majestical, reserved, and somewhat sullen; Their dresses partly silk and partly woollen. THE MINISTER'S HOUSEKEEPER1 [Harriet Beecher Stowe born in Litchfield, America. She is a daughter of Lyman Beecher, D. D., and assisted her sister in the management of a school at Hartford. from her fifteenth until her twenty-first year, when she became the wife of Calvin E. Stowe, D. D. Her first important publication was a series of sketches of the Pilgrims to the New World, entitled Mardower. In 1852 she published Uncle Tom's Cabin, which immedi ately obtained immense popularity in this country as well as in America Before the end of the year upwards of a million copies had been sold in England. The work was translated into almost every known language, and dramatic versions were represented on every stage in Europe. The publication of Uncle Tom's Cabin is be lieved to have sounded the doom of slavery; and for this the author merits the gratitude of all countries and all ages. Mrs. Stowe afterwards wrote A Keg to Uncle Tom's Cabin, giving the original facts and does ments upon which the story is founded: Dred: The Minister's Wooing; Agues of Sorrento; Sunny Menaario of Foreign Lands; and numerous miscellaneous works. The Westminster Revier gives the following estimate of her literary rank: "Whatever else she may write er may not write, Und Tom and Dred will assure ber a place in that highest rank of novelists who can give us a national life in all its phases-popular and aristecratic, humorous and tragic, political and religions."] SCENE-The shady side of a blueberry pasture-Sam Lawson with the boys picking blueberries.-Sam, l.q. "Wal, you see, boys, 'twas just here,-Parson Carryl's wife, she died along in the forepart o March: my cousin Huldy, she undertook to keep house for him. The way on't was, that Huldy, she went to take care o' Mis' Carryl in As spitting through the teeth, and driving the fust on't, when she fust took sick. Huldy stages, Accomplishments reserved for distant ages. They looked a manly, generous generation; Beards, shoulders, eyebrows, broad, and square, and thick, Their accents firm and loud in conversation, Their eyes and gestures eager, sharp, and quick, was a tailoress by trade; but then she was one o' these 'ere facultised persons that has a gift for most anything, and that was how Mis Carryl come to set sech store by her, that. when she was sick, nothin' would do for her 1 From Oldtown Fireside Stories, by Harriet Beecher Stowe, London: Sampson Low, Marston, & Co. but she must have Huldy round all the time: and the minister, he said he'd make it good to her all the same, and she shouldn't lose nothin' by it. And so Huldy, she staid with Mis' Carryl full three months afore she died, and got to seein' to everything pretty much round the place. "Wal, arter Mis' Carryl died, Parson Carryl, he'd got so kind o' used to hevin' on her 'round, takin' care o' things, that he wanted her to stay along a spell; and so Huldy, she staid along a spell, and poured out his tea, and mended his close, and made pies and cakes, and cooked and washed and ironed, and kep' everything as neat as a pin. Huldy was a drefful chipper sort o' gal; and work sort o' rolled off from her like water off a duck's back. There warn't no gal in Sherburne that could put sich a sight o' work through as Huldy; and yet, Sunday mornin', she always come out in the singers' seat like one o' these 'ere June roses, lookin' so fresh and smilin', and her voice was jest as clear and sweet as a meadow lark's-Lordy massy! I 'member how she used to sing some o' them 'are places where the treble and counter used to go together: her voice kind o' trembled a little, and it sort o' went thro' and thro' a feller! tuck him right where he lived!" Here Sam leaned contemplatively back with his head in a clump of sweet fern, and refreshed himself with a chew of young wintergreen. "This 'ere young wintergreen, boys, is jest like a feller's thoughts o' things that happened when he was young: it comes up jest so fresh and tender every year, the longest time you hev to live; and you can't help chawin' on't tho' 'tis sort o' stingin'. I don't never get over likin' young wintergreen." 'But about Huldah, Sam?" Oh, yes! about Huldy. Lordy massy! when a feller is Indianin' round, these 'ere pleasant summer days, a feller's thoughts gits like a flock o' young partridges: they's up and down and everywhere: 'cause one place is jest about as good as another, when they's all so kind o' comfortable and nice. Wal, about Huldy, as I was a sayin'. She was jest as handsome a gal to look at as a feller could have; and I think a nice, well-behaved young gal in the singers' seat of a Sunday is a means o' grace: it's sort o' drawin' to the unregenerate, you know. Why, boys, in them days, I've walked ten miles over to Sherburne of a Sunday mornin', jest to play the bass-viol in the same singers' seat with Huldy. She was very much respected, Huldy was; and, when she went out to tailorin', she was allers bespoke six months ahead, and sent for in waggins up and down for ten miles round; for the young fellers was allers 'mazin' anxious to be sent after Huldy, and was quite free to offer to go for her. Wal, after Mis' Carryl died, Huldy got to be sort o' housekeeper at the minister's, and saw to everything, and did everything: so that there warn't a pin out o' the way. "But you know how 'tis in parishes: there allers is women that thinks the minister's affairs belong to them, and they ought to have the rulin' and guidin' of 'em; and, if a minister's wife dies, there's folks that allers has their eyes open on providences,-lookin' out who's to be the next one. "Now, there was Mis' Amaziah Pipperidge, a widder with snappin' black eyes, and a hooknose,-kind o' like a hawk; and she was one o' them up-and-down commandin' sort o' women, that feel that they have a call to be seein' to everything that goes on in the parish, and 'specially to the minister. "Folks did say that Mis' Pipperidge sort o' sot her eye on the parson for herself: wal, now that 'are might a' been, or it might not. Some folks thought it was a very suitable connection. You see she hed a good property of her own, right nigh to the minister's lot, and was allers kind o' active and busy; so, takin' one thing with another, I shouldn't wonder if Mis' Pipperidge should a thought that Providence p'inted that way. At any rate, she went up to Deakin Blodgett's wife, and they two sort o' put their heads together a mournin' and condolin' about the way things was likely to go on at the minister's now Mis' Carryl was dead. Ye see, the parson's wife, she was one of them women who hed their eyes everywhere and on everything. She was a little thin woman, but tough as inger-rubber, and smart as a steel-trap; and there warn't a hen laid an egg, or cackled, but Mis' Carryl was right there to see about it; and she hed the garden made in the spring, and the medders mowed in summer, and the cider made, and the corn husked, and the apples got in the fall; and the doctor, he hedn't nothin' to do but jest sit stock still a meditatin' on Jerusalem and Jericho and them things that ministers think about. But Lordy massy! he didn't know nothin' about where anything he eat or drunk or wore come from or went to: his wife jest led him 'round in temporal things and took care on him like a baby. "Wal, to be sure, Mis' Carryl looked up to him in spirituals, and thought all the world on him; for there warn't a smarter minister no where 'round. Why, when he preached on decrees and election, they used to come clear over from South Parish, and West Sherburne, and Old Town to hear him; and there was such a row o' waggins tied along by the meetin'house that the stables was all full, and all the hitchin'-posts was full clean up to the tavern, so that folks said the doctor made the town look like a gineral trainin'-day a Sunday. "He was gret on texts, the doctor was. When he hed a p'int to prove, he'd jest go through the Bible, and drive all the texts ahead o' him like a flock o' sheep; and then, if there was a text that seemed agin him, why, he'd come out with his Greek and Hebrew, and kind o' chase it 'round a spell, jest as ye see a feller chase a country bell-wether, and make him jump the fence arter the rest. I tell you, there wa'n't no text in the Bible that could stand agin the doctor when his blood was up. The year arter the doctor was app'inted to preach the 'lection sermon in Boston, he made such a figger that the Brattle Street Church sent a committee right down to see if they couldn't get him to Boston; and then the Sherburne folks, they up and raised his salary; ye see, there ain't nothin' wakes folks up like somebody else's wantin' what you've got. Wal, that fall they made him a Doctor o' Divinity at Cambridge College, and so they sot more by him than ever. Wal, you see, the doctor, of course he felt kind o' lonesome and afflicted when Mis' Carryl was gone; but railly and truly, Huldy was so up to everything about house, that the doctor didn't miss nothin' in a temporal way. His shirt-bosoms was pleated finer than they ever was, and them rufles 'round his wrists was kep' like the driven snow; and there warn't a brack in his silk stockin's, and his shoe-buckles was kep' polished up, and his coats brushed; and then there warn't no bread and biscuit like Huldy's; and her butter was like solid lumps o' gold; and there wern't no pies to equal hers; and so the doctor never felt | the loss o' Mis' Carryl at table. Then there was Huldy allers oppisite to him, with her blue eyes and her cheeks like two fresh peaches. She was kind o' pleasant to look at; and the more the doctor looked at her the better he liked her; and so things seemed to be goin' on quite quiet and comfortable ef it hadn't been that Mis' Pipperidge and Mis' Deakin Blodgett and Mis' Sawin got their heads together a talkin' about things. "Poor man,' says Mis' Pipperidge, 'what can that child that he's got there do towards takin' the care of all that place? It takes a mature woman,' she says, 'to tread in Mis' Carryl's shoes.' "That it does,' said Mis' Blodgett; 'and, when things once get to runnin' down hill. there ain't no stoppin' on 'em,' says she. "Then Mis' Sawin, she took it up. (Ye see, Mis' Sawin used to go out to dress-makin', and was sort o' jealous, 'cause folks sot more by Huldy than they did by her.) Well,' says she, Huldy Peters is well enough at her trade. I never denied that, though I do say I never did believe in her way o' makin' buttonholes; and I must say, if 'twas the dearest friend I hed, that I thought Huldy tryin' to fit Mis' Kittridge's plumb-coloured silk was a clear piece o' presumption; the silk was jist spiled, so 'twarn't fit to come into the meetin'house. I must say, Huldy's a gal that's always too ventersome about takin' 'sponsibilities she don't know nothin' about.' "Of course she don't,' said Mis' Deakin Blodgett. What does she know about all the lookin' and seein' to that there ought to be in guidin' the minister's house? Huldy's well meanin', and she's good at her work, and good in the singers' seat, but Lordy massy! she hain't go no experience. Parson Carryl ought to have an experienced woman to keep house for him. There's the spring house-cleanin' and the fall house-cleanin' to be seen to, and the things to be put away from the moths; and then the gettin' ready for the association and all the ministers' meetin's; and the makin' the soap and the candles, and settin' the hens and turkeys, watchin' the calves, and seein' after the hired men and the garden; and there that are blessed man jist sits there at home as serene, and has nobody round but that are gal, and don't even know how things must be a runnin' to waste!' "Wal, the upshot on't was, they fussed and fuzzled and wuzzled till they'd drinked up all the tea in the teapot; and then they went down and called on the parson, and wuzzled him all up talkin' about this, that, and t'other that wanted lookin' to, and that it was no way to leave everything to a young chit like Huldy, and that he ought to be lookin' about for an experienced woman. The parson, he thanked 'em kindly, and said he believed their motives was good, but he didn't go no further. He didn't ask Mis' Pipperidge to come and stay there and help him, nor nothin' o' that kind. but he said he'd attend to matters himself. The fact was, the parson had got such a likin' for havin' Huldy 'round, that he couldn't think o' such a thing as swappin' her off for the Widder Pipperidge. "But he thought to himself, Huldy is a good girl; but I oughtn't to be a leavin' every thing to her-it's too hard on her. I ought to be instructin' and guidin' and helpin' of her; 'cause 'tain't everybody could be expected to know and do what Mis' Carryl did;' and so at it he went; and Lordy massy! didn't Huldy hev a time on't when the minister began to come out of his study, and want to tew 'round and see to things? Huldy, you see, thought all the world of the minister, and she was 'most afraid to laugh; but she told me she couldn't, for the life of her, help it when his back was turned, for he wuzzled things up in the most singular way. But Huldy, she'd jest say 'Yes, sir,' and get him off into his study, and go on her own way. "Huldy,' says the minister one day, 'you ain't experienced out doors; and, when you want to know anything, you must come to me.' "Yes, sir,' says Huldy. "Now, Huldy,' says the parson, 'you must be sure to save the turkey-eggs, so that we can have a lot of turkeys for Thanksgiving.' "Yes, sir,' says Huldy; and she opened the pantry-door, and showed him a nice dishful she'd been a savin' up. Wal, the very next day the parson's hen-turkey was found killed up to old Jim Scroggs's barn. Folks said Scroggs killed it; though Scroggs, he stood to it he didn't: at any rate, the Scroggses, they made a meal on't, and Huldy, she felt bad about it 'cause she'd set her heart on raisin' the turkeys; and says she, 'Oh, dear! I don't know what I shall do. I was just ready to set her.' "Do, Huldy?' says the parson: why, there's the other turkey, out there by the door; and a fine bird, too, he is.' "Sure enough, there was the old tom-turkey a struttin' and a sidlin' and a quitterin,' and a floutin' his tail-feathers in the sun, like a lively young widower, all ready to begin life over again. "But,' says Huldy, 'you know he can't set on eggs. "He can't? I'd like to know why,' says the parson. He shall set on eggs, and hatch 'em too.' "O doctor!' says Huldy, all in a tremble; 'cause, you know, she didn't want to contradict the minister, and she was afraid she should laugh-I never heard that a tom-turkey would set on eggs." "Why, they ought to,' said the parson, getting quite 'arnest: 'what else be they good for? you just bring out the eggs, now, and put 'em in the nest, and I'll make him set on 'em.' VOL. II. "So Huldy, she thought there wern't no way to convince him but to let him try: so she took the eggs out, and fixed 'em all nice in the nest; and then she come back and found old Tom a skirmishin' with the parson pretty lively, I tell ye. Ye sce, old Tom, he didn't take the idee at all; and he flopped and gobbled, and fit the parson; and the parson's wig got 'round so that his cue stuck straight out over his ear, but he'd got his blood up. Ye see, the old doctor was used to carryin' his p'ints o' doctrine; and he hadn't fit the Arminians and Socinians to be beat by a tom-turkey; so finally he made a dive, and ketched him by the neck in spite o' his floppin', and stroked him down, and put Huldy's apron 'round him. "There, Huldy,' he says, quite red in the face, 'we've got him now;' and he travelled off to the barn with him as lively as a cricket. “Huldy came behind jist chokin' with laugh, and afraid the minister would look 'round and see her. "Now, Huldy, we'll crook his legs, and set him down,' says the parson, when they got him to the nest: 'you see he is getting quiet, and he'll set there all right.' "And the parson, he sot him down; and old Tom, he sot there solemn enough, and held his head down all droopin', lookin' like a rail pious old cock, as long as the parson sot by him. "There: you see how still he sets,' says the parson to Huldy. 66 'Huldy was most dyin' for fear she should laugh. I'm afraid he'll get up,' says she, 'when you do.' "Oh, no, he won't!' says the parson, quite confident. There, there,' says he, layin' his hands on him, as if pronouncin' a blessin'. But when the parson riz up, old Tom, he riz up too, and began to march over the eggs. "Stop, now!' says the parson. 'I'll make him get down agin: hand me that corn-basket; we'll put that over him.' "So he crooked old Tom's legs, and got him down agin; and they put the corn-basket over him, and then they both stood and waited. "That'll do the thing, Huldy,' said the parson. "I don't know about it,' says Huldy. "Oh, yes, it will, child! I understand,' he. says "Just as he spoke, the basket riz right up and stood, and they could see old Tom's long legs. "I'll make him stay down, confound him,' says the parson; for, ye see, parsons is men, 45 |