is the worst shod," so the cats'-meat dealer's dog | clarioneting, "The black joke," and going round was the worst fed. I never had a morsel given to me that could possibly be sold. There was not the slightest increase of respect or affection between my mistress and myself. At length, I was relieved from her tyranny. In the course of her rambles, she had formed an acquaintance with a fat hoary old cripple, who at some early period of life had the misfortune to lose both his legs. For many years after that, he obtained a good income by playing on a cracked clarionet, seated in a go-cart drawn by a single dog. This dog could go no longer, seeing that he died; and the cart would not go without the dog. In brief, I was promoted to the cart, vice Cæsar deceased. Here, however, began new troubles. For, oh, such a clarionet! It has been asserted that dogs do not like music, that at certain notes many will howl. As regards myself, I now had the opportunity of proving the fact. the corner, where he knew dwelt what is called a serious family, he would plaintively commence the "Evening Hymn." Dog as I was, I scorned him. My tale is coming towards an end. I had dragged my old bagpipe of a master out of the Hyde Park end of London; and toiled on, he getting all the pence, I all the annoyance, until I came to the corner of a well known lane, that recalled my early reminiscences. He was in the middle of blowing "The blue bonnets over the border," when I was seized with an irresistible desire once more to behold the inmates of a house wherein I had passed some felicitous hours. Without, therefore, caring for my driver, (who by the way was drunk,) I set off at full speed down the lane, dragging the cart and musician behind me, and followed by a number of boys, who had surrounded us, out of curiosity. Some of the little Pennyfeathers seeing this strange sight, ran in to tell their parents: and the old lady and gentleman ventured out to the door, he winking and sniffing as usual. I stopped suddenly before the house, so suddenly that the intoxicated clarionet player fell over, and upset the cart, tearing away a portion of the harness, from which I rapidly disengaged myself, and instantly set up my well known and much dreaded howl. I was so altered in my person, that it was with difficulty that I was recognized; the favorite howl, which I re My present master,-oh, what an inexorable slave driver! I had to drag his heavy trunk, surmounted by a capacious chest, all over the streets and suburbs of London; all day, drag, drag, drag, by the sides of the gutters. The old rascal had two instruments; his cracked clarionet, and a hard thonged whip. With the one, his intention was to amuse the public; with the other, to torture me. Whenever he ran down several notes in "Maggy Lauder," I invariably howled, I could not help my-peated, effected that. self: then out came the other instrument; and the tone and flourishes of that about my ears were distinctly heard, and the music was of such a nature, that it was as distinctly felt. My master was a musical hypocrite of uncommon tact; he knew the houses well where he was encouraged, and where he was sure to be paid to go away. He was perfectly aware at what residence the hundred and fourth Psalm would be acceptable, or where "Nix my dolly pals, fake away," would be preferred. Oh! how I have execrated the old impostor, when he has turned from a low public house, seethed in gin, where he has been Here was a tableau! My master's trunk and clarionet prostrate in the gutter; all the Pennyfeathers in mute astonishment, in various attitudes; I, mad for joy at my release, jumping up to lick Mr. Pennyfeather's face; his utter horror thereat; the arrival of the butcher's boy, attracted by the crowd, with a cleaver in his hand; the advent of two policemen to convey the remains of the drunken beggar to the station house; my determination to be again received as an inmate; Mr. Pennyfeather's decided objection to that measure, expressed by showing the butcher's boy another half-crown; the butcher's boy's attempt to seize me; my boundless anger excited; the butcher's cruel grasp revenged | but out of reach of my pursuers-looked on the by my biting him through the hand; the butcher's world with disgust-and became a vagrant as you upraised cleaver! Oh! oh!-it fell, and though now see me. intended for my head, cut off two-thirds of my tail! Maddened with pain, I ran, I know not whither, Here the UNLUCKY DOG turned round, and remarked, "THIS IS THE END OF MY Tail.” THE YOUNG PHILANTHROPIST AND THE OLD BRUTE. A Story for the Time to Come. BY J. B. BUCKSTONE. Ir was a bitter night in January; few and shivering were the pedestrians of the streets of London; icebergs floated on the river, a sharp north-easterly wind cut every half-clad and homeless creature to the bone; the chimes of Westminster Abbey tolled the hour of eleven; their very sounds seemed to tremble and die in the freezing air, as they were listened to by a figure leaning against the low wall that faced a gloomy and moated building on that side of the Thames called Millbank. The form was that of a woman: her face had been buried in her hand till the chiming of the hour roused her from her position: she looked earnestly towards the miserable building, walked or rather tottered a few paces, then turned and gazed again. "Three weeks only gone," she exclaimed, "of the long, long year that must pass before I may ever see him again-I shall not live till the end of it-I cannot-I feel that I cannot; "-and she drew a thin and tattered cloak closely around her, as the ruthless wind swept by upon that desolate bank: the cry of a child was heard beneath her wretched garment she strove in vain to hush it, till the coldstricken infant's screams struck terror into the heart of its miserable mother. "What can I do to help you, dear?" was her sobbing question. "You are cold, you must be, for I am shivering from head to foot-I have not tasted food to-day, and nothing have I for you, poor dear! where Nature teaches you to turn for nourishment: it were better that we both lie down to die-if we can but fall asleep on such a night as this, neither of us will ever wake again.' And she sank by the road-side, exhausted. The cries of the child were silenced for a time, and she appeared to strive to invite slumber; but in vain; for, suddenly starting up, she said, "He will be again at liberty; the bitter lesson he has known will make him more cautious, he will not again be the dupe of wretches; and if some good Christian would but listen to my sad story, and relieve me for a time, all may yet be well. No, no, I must strive against this affliction: though I could not help crawling, even on this wretched night, to look upon the dark walls that surround my husband, and the father of my child. God help me! for I am afraid none upon earth will." She moved forwards with great rapidity, till she reached one of those lonely streets near the Abbey. An old man walked hurriedly by her, well wrapped up and defended against the weather-his mouth carefully covered to avoid a thick fog which had suddenly followed the subsiding of the wind. In spite of his precautions, the foul air penetrated to his lungs, and a violent cough compelled him to pause. The woman whom he had passed, approached | him, and exclaimed-"Pray, Sir, look with pity on the poor and houseless on such a wretched night!" To this appeal no reply was given; the old man hastened on, the woman seemed to gain courage, and kept pace with him; he waved her back with his hand :-she stopped, uttered a piteous groan, and looked after the cruel one who had so repulsed her. He arrived at the door of a dirty old-fashioned house, knocked and rang. Before the door could be opened, the woman was again at his side-"For heaven's sake, Sir," she said earnestly, "be charitable-I have no home, and this poor child”—He did not allow her to conclude the appeal, but in a harsh voice bade her "go away;" she sank on her knees to him; he laughed, muttered the word "impostor!" and again rang the bell. A severe-looking female appeared at the door, bearing a light. 'Martha," said the old man, as he entered the house, "give that woman in charge to the police." The request, however, was not complied with, the door was instantly closed; the noise of bolts and chains was heard-and, as the morning dawned, a young female, and an infant clasped in her arms, were discovered on the step of that door frozen to death! Who can she be? anxiously inquired the crowd that gathered round the old man's house. They were bearing away the bodies, when a person knocked to inquire if the inmate of the dwelling knew any thing of the sad catastrophe. The old man appeared at the door; his hair and beard, the latter of a week's growth, were gray; his eyes were deeply set in his head, and overshadowed by white and bushy brows; and, as he thrust forth his .withered countenance in order to reply to the question put to him, it assumed an expression of such ferocity, that the bystanders shrank in more fear from the face of that living man, than from the placid countenances of the dead before them. "Do you know any thing about them?" was the question. "No," croaked the old man, "I do not, except that the woman was a beggar, and followed me last night as I came home late from the city: had my servant done as I desired her, this might not have happened. Now begone, and don't create a disturbance before my house." He disappeared, the door was sharply closed, and the crowd bearing the dead passed on. "An old brute!" remarked one; "he gave her nothing, I'll be bound, and they say that he is worth thousands." young man walked forth upon the lawn, to enjoy that genial and delightful day; he was attended by his valet; and, basking in the rays of the sun, sipping his chocolate, took a letter from the pocket of his elegantly-figured morning gown, and, giving it to the man, desired him to deliver it in the course of the day as directed. "It contains," said he "a trifle for the widow of the poor fisherman who was drowned last week;" and, added he, "see that my half-yearly subscription for the relief of the houseless poor be paid to-morrow; and with a smile he gave his empty cup to the valet, and passed with an air of contentment into his garden, where his gardener was working; the young man approached him—“ Are you happy now, Thomas ?" was the question put to the laborer. "Quite, Sir, and I shall ever bless the day that I met you. If you had not taken me without a character, my little family must have gone to the work house," was the reply. "Well," added the young man, "whether the charge against you were false or not-" "Quite false, Sir," interrupted the man. "Whether it was false or not, I hope that my kindness in receiving you into my service will make you grateful, and that your gratitude will teach you honesty while you are with me: I believe the charge of theft made against you in your last place to be unfounded, and trust that your good conduct here will prove it so." "It shall, Sir, and Heaven bless you!" was the reply of the wrinkled gardener. And the young man passed on, with a light step and a cheek flushed with the consciousness of a heart possessing every charitable feeling for human nature. He walked to the front of his villa, and hung over the gate opening to the high-road: while looking with satisfaction on all around, a beautiful girl approached the gate, carrying a letter; she blushed as she presented it to him. It was from her father, an industrious tradesman in the neighborhood, who, in losing his wife, had, in his sorrow, suffered his business to be neglected. He became the inmate of a prison, leaving his eldest daughter, the bearer of the letter, and two younger children, unprotected: his misfortunes reached the ears of the young philanthropist now hanging over the gate. The tradesman's debts were paid, and his family reinstated in their old house and business. This letter was one of thanks: he perused it with pleasure, asked the young girl into his house, directed the servants to offer her refreshments, and put a bank-note into her hand as she departed. The girl trembled, curtsied, and went home. The young man reclined in his easy chair, and, surveying himself in a Psyche before him, was, for the moment, the happiest man in existence; the blessings and praises of all who had experienced his kindness rang in his ears. "Every body respects me," said he; "respects me! they love me!"-and, in the joy of his heart, he sprang into a light wherry that was moored at the extremity of his lawn, and pulled gaily with the tide down the river. "How delightful it is," thought he, "to have wealth and apply it as I do! How every one must talk of me! I should like to hear what they say; but that is impossible;" and, with a sigh, he landed at Chelsca, trusted his wherry to the care of a waterman, to whom he flung a guinea, and to "Poor Jack" a crown. Both stared after him in astonishment. "I wonder what they will say of me?" thought he to himself. His cab had followed him on the river-side; he leaped into it, his smart tiger hung on, behind, and his fine horses nobly stepped out towards town. He dined at one of his clubs, and reading over the advertisements in the newspaper after dinner, his constant custom, with a view to discover some new case of distress which he could delight himself by relieving, found one object of compassion perishing for want in the neighborhood of Walworth. Not a moment was to be lost: he would fly to her relief; and ten minutes more found him crossing Waterloo Bridge in his way to the abode of wretchedness. The evening was as clear, and as calm, as the morning had been beautiful. He thought again, with heartfelt satisfaction, on all the good that he had done, and on that which he was going to do, and, as he complacently looked upwards to the brightly shining stars, "Oh lovely worlds," he exclaimed; "if you are the abodes of the blessed, surely I may hope to inhabit one of you, when it may be my lot to quit this less favored planet!" His reveries were interrupted by observing a man ascend the parapet of the bridge within a few yards of him, who flung his arms wildly in the air, and seemed preparing to plunge into the rolling tide beneath; the young philanthropist rushed towards him, seized him by the coat-a shrill and unearthly scream burst from the frustrated suicide, as he firmly held him back. Three or four passengers crossed over to the spot from the most frequented side of the bridge; the man was dragged from the parapet, and flung upon the ground. "He is drunk!" was the observation of the passengers, as they passed on, leaving the young man alone with the desperate stranger. "Why are you so rash? what is your trouble? Tell me, and I will relieve you if I can.' The man staggered exhausted against the balustrades; he panted for breath. The question was repeated. "You can do me no service," said the unknown. "I wish to die." "All!" added the manager with a look of despondency. "How can I face my people without that all? How many families will go dinnerless on Sunday, now that I am without that all!" "Ha!" thought the philanthropist, "how many families then will bless my name if I supply him with the means of paying them!" "You shall have the sum that you require," said the young man: "lead me to a place where I can obtain pen and ink, and I will instantly write you a check." "You will!" replied the manager, rubbing his hands with glee. "You have not only saved my life, but have sustained my character for punctuality in my payments, without which a manager, from having it in his power to be the pettiest of all petty tyrants, suddenly becomes the most insignificant creature on the face of the earth. Follow me, my kind, my best friend; it is a non-play night-the anniversary of Charles the Martyr; the actors only suffer for that event nowadays-poor devils!" and the manager again rubbed his hands, and seemed to chuckle at something that tickled his fancy mightily. He led the way; they arrived at the theatre, entered it by a small door in a back street, and were soon seated in a dark and dingy room, the walls of which were hung with files of play-bills. An office table with a desk upon it occupied the centre of the apartment; some faded damask chairs, with dirty white and gold arms and legs, completed the rest of the furniture. On the table were several soiled manuscripts and paper parcels tied up and directed. "These are rejected dramas," said the manager, as he perceived his friend eyeing them. "Every man to whom I return one of those parcels is henceforth my enemy for life." He then threw himself into a chair, and assumed a look of vast importance. "There are pen, ink and paper," said he. "And there," added the young man, "is the check." "Attend in the treasury to-morrow," said the manager, "and behold the gratified faces of my company; for," said he, in his ear, "they do not expect a halfpenny. You will hear what they say." "Shall I?" exclaimed the philanthropist, and his face flushed with delight. The manager now fixed his eyes on his friend, and seemed to read his very soul. "I have no doubt," said he, "that you have done many kind actions like this?" "Yes," replied the young man. "And you find every body grateful?" "I think I do." At "Don't be alarmed," said he; "" a theatre is the legitimate place for transformation, and where could I undergo mine in a more befitting locality? I am the embodied organ of inquisitiveness; many, many years ago I was an insignificant lump on the cranium of the last wife of the great Blue-beard. her death, I was released from obscurity, and took my place amongst the myriads of liberated organs of every human passion that throngs the invisible air. These little eyes of mine, when I wish to pry into any matter that interests me, I can expand to the size of the crown of your hat." And he immediately gave an evidence of the truth of his boast, by fixing on the alarmed philanthropist a pair of immense black orbs, which he as suddenly reduced to their former twinkling dimensions. Again he laughed long and loud at the astonishment of the young man. "Behold," said he, pointing to his tin tube, "when I apply this instrument to my ear, I can plainly distinguish all that is said of me amongst my companions behind my back." He placed it to his ear:-"That's right," said he, with a grin. "Go on-defame!- detract!-back bite!—I can hear you-those infernal organs of destructiveness and philoprogenitiveness are giving me a fine character. I know that I am far from a paragon of excellence, but really not such a wretch as my friends wish to make me out. Ah! now I see you have an inkling to try my trumpet; take it, my friend :-don't be alarmed, it won't bite you." He handed his tube to the young man, who in "And in your own circle of course you are be- stinctively applied it to the proper organ-he immeloved ?" 'I believe I am." diately turned pale. "What do they say?" inquired the embodied "And the objects of your charity reverence you?" organ. "Is it possible ?" ejaculated the philanthropist. "Well, sir," added the manager, "you have this night done me a great kindness; perhaps it is in my power to return the favor by giving you your wish." "What!" exclaimed the "" young man; give me to hear what is really said of me-is it possible?" "Possible!" said the manager, and he burst into a laugh, so long and so loud, that the philanthropist doubted the sanity of the Thespian ruler; but as he laughed so merrily, his countenance underwent a complete change, the clothes in which he was attired seemed to become uninhabited, like the dresses in the opening of a Christmas pantomime before the changes to the motley group take place --his head sank into his coat-his coat into his nether garments-they, in their turn, fell into his stockings, and, sitting on the ground before the bewildered young man, appeared an odd little figure, about three feet in height-his legs most grotesquely bowed, and supporting a very corpulent body. His head was large, his nose long and hooked, and a mouth, that alternately expanded from ear to ear, and instantaneously drew up into a small oval of the size of an egg; he held a brown tin ear-trumpet in his hand, his dress was a tightly-fitting suit of yellow, spotted with black, and, at the first glance, he looked like a huge frog; his face, however, was red and jolly, and his little black eyes seemed on fire with delight. "I relieved a fisherman's young widow this morning, and her friends are persuading her that I have a base motive for my charity." "And she believes them, no doubt," said the exmanager. "She does: her reply is who'd have thought it?' and I plainly hear her simper of satisfaction. Another peal of laughter from the bow-legged gentleman shook the apartment. "Try again," said he; "better luck next time." The young man's face once more paled with rage. "What now?" inquired the owner of the tube. "My gardener, that I took into my service without a character, is talking to his wife. The man was accused of theft, was starving, and I took pity on him." "Well, what does he say of you?" "His opinion is, that as I seem so rich, and have taken him without a character, if I don't work a private still, he is almost sure that I am one of the swell mob, and he shall begin to look about him— a wretch!" The little gentleman rolled about the floor in ecstasies: again the tube was at the eager ear of the young man, whose countenance reflected his vexation. "What now?" inquired the man with the mouth, in a burlesque tone of commiseration. "A party of friends, to whom I gave a splendid dinner last week, are discussing my charitable dis- | sires her to be constant in her attendance at church position." "And what do they say?" แ 'They attribute all that I have done to ostentation. Even my subscription to the Society for the Relief of the Houseless Poor cannot escape their sneers. 'Poor young man!' says one, 'he feels gratified at reading his name among the list of subscribers.' -to take her little sister only with her, and he has no doubt that some afternoon I may offer my arm, which she must timidly take." "Oh, dear-oh, dear!" sighed the owner of the tube, "what a world it is!" 66 The young man's face now turned red with fury. Any thing more ?" asked the embodied organ. "Who is speaking of you now?" "The man by the river-side, to whom I gave the care of my wherry, and Jack-in-the-water; they are gossiping over a cool tankard at the Adam and Eve -they are speaking of me." "What do they say?" "The devil," exclaimed the philanthropist, and he dashed the tube on the ground; it seemed to fly into a thousand pieces-a loud clap of thunder shook the building. The young man received a violent blow, and fell stunned upon the floor. On recovering, the white lines with which the shutters of the room were ruled told him that it was break of day. He groped about in fear and astonishment, and, when recollection of the incidents of the past night returned to him, he anxiously sought the door of the apartment, and explored his way thence through the dark wings of the play-house :-the night-porter had opened the stage-door, and was surveying the state of the weather on the pavement. The philanthropist darted unobserved into the street, called a hackney-coach, and in two hours was stretched upon his bed, with an aching head, and a heart bursting with vexation. A BOLD TRANSLATOR. In certain clubs in London, it has been found useful to check the inclination to classical quotation, by introducing a translator, to which position some well-known humorist is generally appointed. When any gentleman indulges in Horatian or Virgilian rhapsodies, or introduces a pedantic or outof-the way phrase of foreign origin, a cry of "Translator!" brings that functionary to the rescue-his duty being to paraphrase the meaning, if possible, but at the same time invest it with some ridiculous association. Mr. Paul Bedford, a well known comedian, was at one time the Translator of a certain society near Drury Lane. A gentleman conversed learnedly on the classical meaning of the word Omnibus. "Translator," said the President, very gravely, "what is the English for omnibus ?" "Shillibeer!" replied Bedford instantly. A certain musician having been seen flirting with a fair one at the box-door of Drury Lane Theatre, was charged, on entering the club, with inconstancy towards the fair proprietor of his heart and hand. 'Non," he exclaimed, “Je suis fidèle !" The translator was instantly called for, who rendered it thus, -"I am a fiddler." The person in question was celebrated for his artistic excellence on "the merry bit of wood." | The translator, when called on to explain the hackneyed phrase, "De mortuis nil nisi bonum,” answered, "It is the watchword of the resurrection men when dead, how nicely we'll bone 'em!'" (i. e. steal them.) The conversation turning on a speaker, who, at a public meeting, had notes handed up to him, "from which hints he spoke," a gentleman adverting to it used the phrase, "Gladiator in arenâ." "Translator!" sounded loudly, on all sides; when the ingenious gentleman explained that it arose from the destruction of a woman by a Roman, who devoured her, and, in the joy of a successful revenge, declared, he was "glad he ate her in the arena.' Talking of antediluvian and pre-adamite relics, the Megatherium was named. Some skeptical persons present denied that such an animal ever existed. "Translator," cried the president, "what animals existed before Adam's time?" "Nothing but one chay-hoss (chaos)," said the erudite officer. Nor was this the only use made of this word; for, in a learned dispute as to Bryant's denial of Troy and its siege, the Translator was called on to name the earliest conflict on record. "It was in the reign of chaos," he replied, "when nihil fit.” |