The meaning of meek she never knew,
But imagined the phrase had something to do
With "Moses," a peddling German Jew,
Who, like all hawkers, the country through,
Was "a person of no position;"
And it seem'd to her exceedingly plain,
If the word was really known to pertain
To a vulgar German, it wasn't germane
To a lady of high condition.
Even her graces-not her grace,
For that was in the "vocative case
Chill'd with the touch of her icy face,
Sat very stiffly upon her ;

She never confessed a favour aloud,
Like one of the simple, common crowd,
But coldly smiled, and faintly bow'd,
As who should say, "You do me proud,
And do yourself an honour !"

And yet the pride of Miss MacBride,
Although it had fifty hobbies to ride,

Had really no foundation;

But, like the fabrics that gossips devise-
Those single stories that often arise,

And grow till they reach a four-storey size-
Was merely a fancy creation.

"Tis a curious fact as ever was known
In human nature, but often shown

Alike in castle and cottage,

That pride, like pigs of a certain breed, Will manage to live and thrive on feed "

As poor as a pauper's pottage.

That her wit should never have made her vain, Was-like her face-sufficiently plain;

And as to her musical powers,
Although she sang until she was hoarse,
And issued notes with a banker's force,
They were just such notes as we never endorse
For any acquaintance of ours!

Her birth, indeed, was uncommonly high,
For MISS MACBRIDE first open'd her eye
Through a skylight dim, on the light of the sky;
But pride is a curious passion-
And in talking about her wealth and worth,
She always forgot to mention her birth

To people of rank and fashion.
Of all the notable things on earth,
The queerest one is pride of birth,
Among our "fierce democracie!"
A bridge across a hundred years,
Without a prop to save it from sneers—
Not even a couple of ancient peers—
A thing for laughter, fleers, and jeers,
Is American aristocracy!

English and Irish, French and Spanish,
German, Italian, Dutch, and Danish,.

By a violent manual action,

She perfectly scorned the best of his clan,
And reckon'd the ninth of any man
An exceedingly vulgar fraction!

Another, whose sign was a golden boot, Was mortified with a bootless suit,

In a way that was quite appalling; For, though a regular sutor by trade, He wasn't a suitor to suit the maid, Who cut him off with a saw-and bade "The cobbler keep to his calling."

(The muse must let a secret out:

There isn't the faintest shadow of doubt
That folks who oftenest sneer and flout
At "the dirty, low mechanicals,"

Are they whose sires, by pounding their knees,
Or coiling their legs, or trades like these,
Contrived to win their children ease

From Poverty's galling manacles.)

A rich tobacconist comes and sues,
And, thinking the lady would scarce refuse

A man of his wealth and liberal views,
Began, at once, with "If you choose-

And could you really love him;"
But the lady spoil'd his speech in a huff,
With an answer rough and ready enough,
To let him know she was up to snuff,
And altogether above him!

A young attorney, of winning grace,
Was scarce allow'd to "open his face,"
Ere MISS MACBRIDE had closed his case

With true judicial celerity;

For the lawyer was poor, and "seedy" to boot,
And to say the lady discarded his suit,
Is merely a double verity.

The last of those who came to court
Was a lively beau of the dapper sort,
Without any visible means of support-
A crime by no means flagrant
In one who wears an elegant coat,
But the point on which they vote
A ragged fellow "a vagrant."
A courtly fellow was dapper JIM,
Sleek and supple, and tall and trim,
And smooth of tongue as neat of limb;

And, maugre his meagre pocket,
You'd say, from the glittering tales he told,
That JIM had slept in a cradle of gold,
With FORTUNATUS to rock it.

Now dapper JIM his courtship plied (I wish the fact could be denied)

With an eye to the purse of the old MACBRIDE,

And really "nothing shorter !"

For he said to himself, in his greedy lust,
"Whenever he dies-as die he must-
And yields to Heaven his vital trust,
He's very sure to come down with his dust'
In behalf of his only daughter."
And the very magnificent Miss MACBRIDE,
Half in love, and half in pride,

Quite graciously relented;

And tossing her head, and turning her back,
No token of proper pride to lack-
To be a Bride, without the "Mac,"
With much disdain, consented.

Alas! that people who've got their box
Of cash beneath the best of locks,
Secure from all financial shocks,

Should stock their fancy with fancy-stocks,
And madly rush upon Wall Street rocks,
Without the least apology!

Alas! that people whose money affairs
Are sound, beyond all need of repairs,
Should ever tempt the bulls and bears
Of Mammon's fierce zoology!

Old JOHN MACBRIDE, one fatal day
Became the unresisting prey

Of fortune's undertakers;
And, staking all on a single die,
His foundered bark went high and dry
Among the brokers and breakers !

At his trade again, in the very shop
Where, years before, he let it drop,

He follows his ancient calling-
Cheerily, too, in Poverty's spite,
And sleeping quite as sound at night
As when, at Fortune's giddy height,
He used to wake with a dizzy fright
From a dismal dream of falling.

But, alas for the haughty Miss MACBRIDE,
It was such a shock to her precious pride!
She couldn't recover, although she tried

Her jaded spirits to rally;

"Twas a dreadful change in human affairs, From a Place "up-town" to a nook "up-stairs," From an avenue down to an alley!

'Twas little condolence she had, God wot, From her "troop of friends" who hadn't forgot The airs she used to borrow;

They had civil phrases enough, but yet 'Twas plain to see that their "deepest regret" Was a different thing from sorrow!

They owned it couldn't have well been worse,
To go from a full to an empty purse :
To expect a "reversion," and get a reverse,
Was truly a dismal feature ;

But it wasn't strange-they whisper'd-at all!
That the summer of pride should have its fall
Was quite according to nature!

And one of those chaps who made a pun,
As if it were quite legitimate fun
To be blazing away at every one
With a regular double-loaded gun,
Remark'd that moral transgression
Always brings retributive stings
To candlemakers as well as kings:
For "making light of cereous things"
Was a very wick-ed profession!

And vulgar people-the saucy churls!-
Inquired about "the price of pearls,"

And mocked at her situation;

"She wasn't ruined, they ventured to hope-
Because she was poor, she needn't mope;
Few people were better off for soap,
And that was a consolation!"

And, to make her cup of woe run over, Her elegant, ardent, plighted lover

HE party comprised Elliston the actor, and Alexandre the ventriloquist. Their first step was towards Charing Cross. The splendid houses now forming Pall Mall East had just been erected. Reaching Cockspur Street, it was settled that the actor should give the Frenchman the cue when he was to ventriloquise, by kicking his shins. "You must animate one of these carcases," said Elliston, surveying the unfinished building; "here

is an empty house that wants a tenant; you must supply one."

The workmen had long retired from the labour of the day, and though the windows were without sashes, and there was little to steal in the several houses, the doors of them were carefully locked to prevent homeless vagabonds occupying them for the night. The dusk favoured the performance. Planting. themselves close to the railings of the first of these edifices

the door," said a fourth.

"A drunken man," said another. "Call the watch." said a third. "Break open The watchman of the district advanced, calling the hour; seeing the mob he lost no time in joining it.

"Och, by St. Bridget's flannel petticoat," said he, on hearing the cries, "but it's that divil's own darlint, Tim Corcoran; sure enough, he's been having a trifle too much refreshment, and they've overlooked the spalpeen and locked him in; faith it's a way he's got, but we mustn't let him remain there. It's a cold night, more by token that I've just taken a noggin of the cratur myself then isn't he a countryman? By the powers I'll go and get the keys and let him out directly-be aisy wid you there. Tim, it's myself, your friend Shamus McGuire that's coming to let you out with my lantern, and will do it beautifully in no time, so be aisy wid you."

Proceeding to a tradesman in the neighbourhood, with whom the keys were deposited, honest Shamus soon returned with them. The mob had now considerably increased, and all was impatience and anxiety. The door was speedily unlocked and Shamus descended.

"Do you see him, do you see him?" cried every

one.

"Divil a haporth," answered Shamus. "Have you found the hole?"

"Not a bit of it-there's no drunken man here." A kick on the ventriloquist's shins caused a renewal of the entreaties for help. The mob were greatly enraged at this proof of Shamus's fallibility.

"You are drunk yourself," they shouted; "the poor fellow's crying for help now, we can hear him quite plain."

"Drunk and is it me that's drunk. By the powers, but you may come and look yourselves, then; but stay, I'll just sarch the back premises. Oh, murder, murder, murder !"

"What's the matter? Have you found the hole?"

"Sure and I have !"

"Then why don't you pull the poor fellow out of it?"

"Och, by the powers! for a mighty good raisin, I'm in it myself up to the chin! Help me out, help me out ! I shall be murdered if I stay here three minutes longer."

Fully persuaded that he would be murdered if he stayed three minutes longer, the ventriloquist here availed himself of the confusion created by this discovery to take French leave.

"I was certain some one was in the vault," said Elliston; "you see I was right my friends. Go down and help the sufferer out directly, but take care you don't get into the hole yourselves as watchey has done."

The mob obeyed his directions, and while they disappeared in the cellar to extricate Shamus, he with the narrator also disappeared in search of the ventriloquist, leaving watchey to get out of the cesspool as well as he could.

Overtaking Alexandre in the Haymarket, they made their way to a retired locality, where a celebrated anatomical lecturer had then a museum, or menagerie, as the populace more commonly called it.

This will be the very thing," said Elliston to the Frenchman, suddenly recollecting the circumstances. "As you have succeeded so well with the carcass in Cockspur Street, I'll try if I can't find you an equally good subject here. My friend shall help us, we can't want one with him."

It was now between nine and ten; there was not a soul to be seen in the street, except an ancient dame who was descending some steps at the further end of the place, bearing a hot meat-pie which she was bringing from a baker's.

"Now then," said Elliston to the ventriloquist, "throw your voice into that vault. You are a dead body wanting to get out. You are a skeleton wishing to take the air. We can never have a better opportunity; now for it."

Piteous groans were immediately heard.

"Let me out, let me out!" cried a voice, rendered more natural by the apprehension of the ventriloquist.

"What's the matter?" said an old lady, approaching.

"Upon my word, I don't know, my good ma'am,” said Elliston; "but there seems some person in great distress here-listen!" Here he kicked the ventriloquist's shins.

"For goodness sake, help me out!" groaned the voice, apparently in the last agonies.

"Gracious preserve me!" cried the old lady, turning deadly pale, and unconsciously letting fall the pie, which was reduced, as the Americans say, to immortal smash.