Make no deep scrutiny,
Into her mutiny,

Rash and undutiful;

Past all dishonor,

Death has left on her

Only the beautiful.

Still, for all slips of hers,One of Eve's family,-. Wipe those poor lips of hers,

Oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses

Escaped from the comb,Her fair auburn tresses,Whilst wonderment guesses, Where was her home?

Who was her father?

Who was her mother?

Had she a sister?

Had she a brother?

Or was there a dearer one

Still, and a nearer one

Yet, than all other?

Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!
Oh, it was pitiful!

Near a whole city full,

Home she had none.

Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly

Feelings had changed,-
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence;
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged. -

Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,
With many a light
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood, with amazement,
Houseless by night.

The bleak wind of March

Made her tremble and shiver;

But not the dark arch,

Or the black, flowing river;
Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery,
Swift to be hurled-
Anywhere, anywhere
Out of the world!

In she plunged boldly,—
No matter how coldly

The rough river ran,―
Over the brink of it!

Picture it,-think of it

Dissolute man!

Lave in it, drink of it, if you can!

Then,

Take her up tenderly,

Lift her with care;

Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

.

Ere her limbs, frigidly,
Stiffen too rigidly,

Decently, kindly,

Smooth and compose them;
And her eyes, close them,
Staring so blindly !—
Dreadfully staring

Through muddy impurity,

As when with the daring

Last look of despairing
Fixed on futurity.

Perishing gloomily,
Spurred by contumely
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,

Into her rest!

Cross her hands humbly,
As if praying dumbly,

Over her breast!

Owning her weakness,

Her evil behavior,

And leaving, with meekness,

Her sins to her Saviour!

THOMAS HOOD.

DOCTOR MARIGOLD.

I AM that sort of a tradesman known all over London

as a Cheap Jack. With horse and cart I carry my wares, and supply the various wants of the people. My own father's name was Willum Marigold. It was in his lifetime supposed by some that his name was William,

10

but my own father always consistently said, No, it was Willum.

You'll guess that my father was a Cheap Jack before me. You are right. He was. And my father was a lovely one in his time at the Cheap Jack work.

you

But I top him. For look here! I am on the footboard of my cart in the market-place on a Saturday night. I put up a general miscellaneous lot. I say: "Now here, my free and independent woters, I'm agoing to give you such a chance as you never had in all your born days, nor yet the days preceding. Now I'll show you what I am a-going to do with you. Here's a pair of razors that'll shave you closer than the Board of Guardians; here's a flat-iron worth its weight in gold; here's a frying-pan artificially flavored with essence of beefsteaks to that degree that you've only got for the rest of your lives to fry bread and dripping in it, and there you are replete with animal food; here's a genuine chronometer watch in such a solid silver case that may knock at the door with it when you come home late from a social meeting, and rouse your wife and family and save up your knocker for the postman; and here's half a dozen dinner-plates that you may play the cymbals with to charm the baby when it's fractious. Stop. I'll throw you in another article, and I'll give you that, and it's a rolling-pin, and if the baby can only get it well into its mouth when its teeth is coming, and rub the gums once with it, they 'll come through double, in a fit of laughter equal to being tickled. Stop again! I'll throw you in another article, because I don't like the looks of you, for you haven't the appearance of buyers unless I lose by you, and because I'd rather lose than not take money to-night, and that article's a lookingglass, in which you may see how ugly you look when

you do n't bid. What do you say now? Come! Do you say a pound? Not you, for you have n't got it. Do you say ten shillings? Not you, for you owe more to the tally-man. Well, then, I'll tell you what I'll do with you. I'll heap 'em all on the footboard of the cart, -there they are! razors, flat-iron, frying-pan, chronometer watch, dinner-plates, rolling-pin, and looking-glass,— take 'em all away for four shillings, and I'll give you sixpence for your trouble!" This is me the Cheap Jack.

I courted my wife from the footboard of the cart. I did indeed. She was a Suffolk young woman, and it was in Ipswich market-place, right opposite the corn-chandler's shop. I had noticed her up at a window last Saturday that was, appreciating highly. I had took to her, and I had said to myself, "If not already disposed of, I'll have that lot." Next Saturday that come, I pitched the cart on the same pitch, and I was in very high feather indeed, keeping 'em laughing the whole of the time, and getting off the goods briskly. At last I took out of my waistcoat-pocket a small lot wrapped in soft paper, and I put it this way (looking up at the window where she was): "Now here, my blooming English maidens, is a article, the last article of the present evening's sale, which I offer to only you, the lovely Suffolk Dumplings biling over with beauty, and I won't take a bid of a thousand pound for, from any man alive. Now what is it? Why, I'll tell you what it is. It's made of fine gold, and it's not broke, though there's a hole in the middle of it, and it's stronger than any fetter that ever was forged, though it's smaller than any finger in my set of ten. It's a man-trap and a handcuff, the parish stocks and a leg-lock, all in gold and all in

one.

Now what else is it? It's a wedding ring. I