forth, though not before the alchemist had caught a glimpse of his figure as he retired, seized upon a red-hot bar of iron, and approached the powder-barrels.

Rushing headlong amongst his companions, with eyes starting from their sockets, in two words he informed them of their danger; and, shrieking out the word gunpowder as he ran, dashed along the passage, and made for the fore-door of the mysterious mansion.

The rest of the party took the hint without further ceremony, and made after him with might and main; the one word "gunpowder" lending them wings in their upward flight. Just as they gained the exterior of the mansion a low rumbling sound was heard, and then a dreadful explosion: the entire left wing of the building seemed to slide and settle quietly down; the earth trembled beneath their feet; the coping-stones and walls were scattered about the fore-court and garden in rear; and the whole party, pale with fear, escaped to the water's edge.

Such is all that was ever known of the history of the mysterious mansion; the foreigners who had carried on business there, and who were supposed to be creatures of the person mine host described as the foreign Almanzo, were surmised to have been coiners. They never were again heard of; and the landlord, who also was missing from that hour, was supposed to have been in league with them, and, in fear of being obliged to make further disclosures, escaped in their company beyond sea.

One man, by teaching virtue and morality,
Obtains the glorious meed of immortality;
Another spends in villany his days,

And, when o'erta'en by Justice' hand, essays,
In Fame's polluted temple, to secure
A niche,

By boastful publishing his deeds impure,
To teach

The hopeful rising generation
The safest modes of depredation.

An hundred more I could adduce
Cross-roads to eminence-bắt truce!
I have an anecdote to tell:

If you're disposed to read it-well.

My hardy, hoary, hapless hero's name
Was once emblazon'd on the scroll of Fame;
For, know ye, he was one of those
Who soar to rank by dint of blows,

Who bud, and bloom, and bask awhile
Beneath capricious Fortune's smile,

Then, in obscure retirement, ripe and rot,

"The world forgetting-by the world forgot."

He once had flourish'd at a court:

Not in the palace of a king or queen,

(Though titled courtiers here are ofttimes seen To swell the throng), but the resort

Of that notorious, nervy number,

Large, lazy, lumps of living lumber,

Yclept, in fancy annals, " Sons of Sport,"

Knights of that squaring, squand'ring, squabbling squad,

Who one day bear the palm-the next the hod:

Bold, boist'rous, bull-dog-bred athletæ,
Who, when assail'd by contradiction,
Converse in arguments so weighty,

They 're almost sure to bring conviction:
Fellows whose arms, and ribs, and jowls,
(Like skittles, cricket-balls, and bowls,)
Are made the implements of mirth

By those who choose for cash to start 'em,
And, while the clods of servile earth
Can wag, are thumpt secundum artem.

In this said court, London's Gymnasium,

You may (whene'er you choose to pay) see 'em

Meet, and shake hands, and treat each others' blocks
With the kind interchange of friendly knocks;

While anxious amateurs compare their skill,

And match their men for the unmuffled mill.
Here had our hero shone, for many a year,
The favourite toy of many a pickle peer.
How oft the crushing crowd hath seen him fling
His kiddy caster in the anxious ring,
And doff his toggery for the arduous tustle :
Hath watch'd, with eager eye, his peeling,
His brawny, bony bust revealing,

And dwelt with admiration on each muscle:
Hath view'd with ecstacy his skilful blows

And stops;

The bloody havoc of his rival's nose

And chops;

VOL. XIII.

Who, like a tortured Indian, firmly bore
The pain of bruises and the loss of gore,
Till pugilistic pluck could take no more.
Then how the victor's backers rent the air,
Lauding his bottom stanch and talent rare ;

Lord, knight, squire, groom and butcher-man and boy,
Elate with conquest, bellow'd forth their joy

In loud huzzas;

While carmen, dustmen, scavengers, and sweeps
Swore ribald oaths, or stretch'd their smutty lips
And grinn'd applause.

Nor did he less attention draw,

Or wield his fives with less éclat,

When, at the art's emporium, he set to,

In mimic strife, 'gainst Christian, Moor, and Jew;
Bolting, between each amicable spar,

A flash of lightning at some neighb’ring bar;
Thus, in alternate recreation,

Mingling the sweet reciprocation

Of knocks and noggins

With every sinewy, scientific fist
Whose name adorns the Boxiana list,
From giant Crib, the champion of the host,
To that invulnerable human post,

Jack Scroggins.

But envious clouds oft suddenly o'erspread

The mid-day sun,

And fickle Fate oft clips her golden thread

As soon as spun:

So, in the zenith of our bruiser's days,
Urged by the triple power of fame, and gold,
And native game, to meet an overmatch,
(Oh, sad reverse!)

A dire defeat eclipsed his glory's blaze,
His laurels cropt, and doom'd him to behold,
With half-closed eyes, his adversary snatch

The conqueror's purse;

When, fired with grief, remorse, and indignation,
He fled the court, and cut the avocation.

But having, from his boyhood, been a

Labourer on the prize arena,

He could not, for his soul, entirely quit

The fancy crew;

So he withdrew

To a retired suburban cottage, fit,
By sort, and size, and site, to be

A sort of game menagerie.

With primest varment soon 'twas amply stock'd,
Cocks, bull-dogs, terriers, bears, and badgers:
When all his former patrons round him flock’d:

Bull-hanking nobles, titled bruisers,

Pickpocket winners, dandy losers,

Scavengers, poachers, thieves and cadgers.

Again he soar'd to eminence;

Again enjoy'd their praise and pence.

At terrier fight, or bait of bull,

From morn till night his hands were full :
At cocking-main, or badger-worrying bout
He shone the leader;

While amateurs declar'd him, out and out,
A first-rate breeder!

2 F

Thus toil'd he on until his youth forsook him,
And premature decrepitude o'ertook him:
When, quitting quadruped and biped strife,
He seem'd resolved to lead a peaceful life.
Bears, dogs, and badgers, young and old,
To the best bidder straight he sold;
Nor aught retain'd of all his stocks,
Save his choice brood of hens and cocks,
On which (for shape and courage noted)
Throughout his warring life he'd doted.
These he resolved to keep, nor even deign'd
To listen to the tempting offers

Of keen contenders, though they would have drain'd (To gain the precious birds) their coffers:

A sovereign; two, three, four, five, six,

Were tender'd for a pair of chicks!

Five guineas; six, seven, eight, nine, ten,

For an old cock, or laying hen!

But no! the owner bade them cease their clamour,

Nor would submit his poultry to the hammer:
Nay, he was so tenacious that he swore

He'd rather beg

A scanty, mouldy crust from door to door,
Than, for their utmost proffer'd pelf,

A single egg

Should leave his matchless pullet's nest (While hatchable) to be possest

By any mortal save himself.

In fact, no nunnery could boast

A more devoted rigid guard

Than did our hero's poultry-roost:

'T was double-bolted, lock'd, and barr'd: And every eve and every morn,

From his own hand they ate their corn;

While he, with jealous eye, survey'd

The young they'd rear'd-the eggs they'd laid:
Counted their numbers o'er and o'er;

Kept strictest reck'ning of his store,

And view'd them with such pride egregious,
He almost deem'd it sacrilegious

To kill a chick or pullet for his dinner.

At length, one winter morn, the hoary sinner,
With bag of corn suspended from his wrist,
And massy key clench'd in his bony fist,
Trudged from his room, in cheerful mood,
To give his birds their daily food;

But, when he op'd the hen-roost door, oh! murther!
Who shall describe his rage and consternation?
Fixt to the spot, he could advance no further;
For all his chickens, pullets, hens, and cocks,
Had fallen a prey (spite of his bars and locks)
To some bold thief's nocturnal depredation.
No Mussulman, when fated to behold

His harem rifled of his hundred wives :
No captur'd thief, laden with purloin'd gold,
Changing his booty for a pair of gyves:
No Irish fish-fag, viewing, on her knees,

Her load of sprats capsiz'd into the mud:
No disappointed sportsman, when he sees
The glanders ravaging his hunting stud,
Could make a more infernal bobbery
Than did our hero at his robbery.

However, when his rage had vent, And Reason had resumed her sway, He thought 'twould be the better way To issue an advertisement.

Almost as soon as said 't was done;

An hundred placards were prepar'd,

Which were directed thus to run,

"GAME COCKS AND HENS! FIVE POUNDS REWARD! Stolen, from the late menagerie,

Game fowls, in number twenty-three.

The sum of money aforesaid,
On application, will be paid,
Without reserve or hesitation,

To any person who can glean
And furnish any information

Concerning them. GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!"
Now, buoy'd by hope, he whiled away the day,
And, in the evening, made his usual sally
Forth to a neighb'ring inn; when, on his way,
A tall, robust, athletic man

O'ertook him, passing through a lone, dark alley,
And to accost him thus began :

"Excuse me, sir: Pray is it true

You had a hen-roost robb'd last night?"—
"Yes!" quoth the other, big with expectation.-
"Then, sir,” pursued the first, "if you

My kind intention will requite,

I can afford you certain information
Concerning your unlucky stock:

I've seen them-every hen and cock!"

"What! seen them ?" quoth the man despoil'd, Whose blood with indignation boil'd;

'Come; shew me where, and, as I live," (Here he drew forth his purse,) "I'll give Three times their value-but-'od's curse! I've but one sovereign in my purse."—

"Hold, neighbour !" quoth th3 informant, “hold !
Shew them I can't ('twixt me and you);

But, while you have in hand your gold,
In brief, I'll tell you what I'll do:
Five Pounds you offer, in your posting-bill,
To him who can give any information
Touching your stolen fowls; now, if you will
Give me that sovereign, as remuneration,
Some information I'll impart

About them.-But, no shuffling art!

I'll have the money in my pocket first;

Or, if I ope my mouth, may I be curst!"

The querist, though 'twas somewhat 'gainst his will,

Concurr'd;

When thus began the stranger to fulfil

His word:

This (to acquaint you in few words)

Is what I know about your birds:

Now mark me! (for its truth I'll pledge my life to,)

THEY WERE THE TOUGHEST THAT I E'ER PUT KNIFE

TO!"

These words pronounced, th' informant started;

And out of sight, like lightning, darted.