Dawes, who was sitting in great glory in his snug fireside nook on a cold April day, saw the fellows coming up his yard, and put the neighbours, who were drinking in the house, up to the matter. He bade the Peakerils come in, take a seat, and a cup of ale, and then he would show them the horses, and insisted they should be the capital pair he had promised them-Wisk and Bob,-and no other.

"Wisk and Bob!" exclaimed the men who were drinking,"why, Mester, will you sell them? They go like the wind, and can live on the wind,-they are famous horses, and are cheap at any money."

The Peakerils could hardly sit for impatience; they insisted on seeing the horses directly; when the jockey, going out to the door, pointed to the sign which hung in front of the house, and said "There they are:-there go Wisk and Bob; one black, the other bay, one on each side. They are dog cheap, but I stick to my word--they are yours for a guinea."

At this discovery the fellows grew outrageous, and threatened law and vengeance; but the jockey amid the laughter of his neighbours, told them to go home like two fools as they were, to bother a man to sell that he had not, and then to walk twenty miles to buy two horses for a guinea.

Another country follow pressed him as importunately to buy his horse, when he told him that he had spent all his money, and could buy no more that day; but the man still went on asking him to buy. "Well then," said the jockey, "if I buy it, I shall give thee my note to pay thee in a fortnight." The bargain was made, and the note given, and in a fortnight the fellow walked into the jockey's house, and presented his note.

"All right," said the jockey, "all quite right—I'll pay thee in a fortnight."

"In a fortnight!" said the man; "it's due now; it's a fortnight since you gave me this note."

To be sure,

said the jockey, "quite true; come again in a fortnight; I'll pay thee in a fortnight."

The man departed in high dudgeon, and punctually at the fortnight's end appeared again.

"Well, now then, you'll please to pay your note."

"Let me see it ;" said the jockey. "Oh yes, in a fortnight ;

I'll certainly pay it then,-that's what it says.

"Says! yes, but I'll tell you now it's two fortnights since you

ought to have paid it; and if you don't pay it now, I'll take measures to make you."

"Oh!" said the jockey, "there's no need of that; come again in a fortnight, and it shall be paid."

The fellow who was now past all patience, hurried off, breathing fire and fury, and in that humour, to his lawyer, telling him what had passed; but to his surprise, no sooner did the lawyer set eyes on the note than he burst into a violent fit of laughter. "Why," said he, "you may go for ever; there is no date to the note, and it will be a promise to pay in a fortnight till the end of time.'

66

The man, who had so little scholarship as never to have perceived this was struck all of a heap, but the lawyer soon helped him out of his dilema. "Go," said he, "to the jockey; but take a friend with you. Let your friend go in some time first, and be taking his glass when you arrive; and when you enter take care not to recognise him. Present your note, and when the jockey says he will pay in a fortnight, call your friend to witness the promise."

The man followed his advice, and as soon as he called on his friend to mark the jockey's words-Jockey Dawes gave a knowing look, chuckled to himself, and said to the fellow,-"Oho! so thou hast been to thy mother, hast thou? Here, here is thy money, and another time, don't bore people who don't want to buy; and get cut for the simples before thou takes promissory notes without dates again."

Dead though Jockey Dawes has been this half-century, yet his fame is strong in its locality as ever, and before the door of his old house still swing on each side of the sign the two renowned horses that live on the wind-the immortal Wisk and Bob-sound as timber and paint.

BREAD FROM BRAIN.

WHERE the iron of our lives

Is wrought out in fire and smoke,
There the mighty Vulcan strives-
Hot the furnace! hard the stroke!
There the windy bellows blow,
There the sparks in millions glow;

There on anvil of the world,
Is the clanging hammer hurl'd.
Hard the labour! small the gain!
Is in making Bread from Brain!
Where that nameless stone is raised,
Where the patriots' bones were plac'd,
Lived he-little loved and praised,

Died he-little mourned and graced-
There he sleeps who knew no rest,
There unblest by those he blest.
Here he starved while sowing seed;
Where he starved the worms now feed!
Hard the labour ! small the gain!
Is in making Bread from Brain!

In that chamber, lone and drear,
Sits a poet writing flowers,
Bringing Heaven to earth more near,
Raining thoughts in dewy showers:
While he sings of nectar rare,
Only is the inkbowl there.

Of feasts of Gods he chaunts-high trust!
As he eats the mouldy crust.

Hard the labour! small the gain!
Is in making Bread from Brain!
When the prophet's mourning voice
Shouts the burthen of the world,
Sackcloth robes must be his choice,
Ashes on his head be hurl'd.
Where the tyrants live at ease,
Where false priests do as they please,
He is scorn'd and pierced in side,
He is stoned and crucified.

Hard the labour! small the gain!
Is in making Bread from Brain !
Patriot poet! prophet! feed
Only on the mouldy crust.
Tyrant! fool! and false priest! need
All the crumb, and scorn the just.
Lord! how long?-how long? oh Lord!
Bless, oh God, mind's unsheathed sword;
Let the pen become a sabre;
Let thy children eat who labour:

Bless the labour! bless the gain!
In the making Bread from Brain.

GOODWYN BARMBY.

433

RESEARCHES IN BELGRAVIA ;

OR,

THE WORKS AND WONDERS OF THE WEST.

BY A SERIOUS PARTY.

LETTER I.-To MRS. RUSTLER.

Tinglebury, March the 20th, 1846.

OUR winter plans, dearest friend, so long and anxiously revolved by the serious fire-side of a certain boudoir, seem at length destined to undergo the fulfilment too rarely awarded to mortal undertakings, however opulent in promise. The die is cast-and you know it is the privilege of Tinglebury rarely to change its purposes, once they are affirmated. We explore Belgravia! I am too certain of the anxiety of the kindred-minded circle of Wailfordcum-Stakeworth not without needless delay to commit our resolution to the exertions of the modern Mercury.

The choice of a party is, on all similar occasions, a matter to be entered upon with weight. You might have been sure that on such an excursion we should not leave our sweet, enthusiastic P behind (her inquiring mind and impulsive and philanthropical simplicity how rare!) but I think I hear your surprise, when I acquaint you that the Peckers cast in their lot with us! To decide our dear and honoured relative to leave the solid hearth, where he substantiates the English character so worthily, some thing more than ordinary motives were necessary. But the idea of myself and Pentering upon our researches without a male protector was not to be thought of. Far be it from us to emulate those Amazonian heroines whose proceedings have struck a damp upon the shrinking virtues of so many women " born but to gladden home's Arcadian sphere,' (as the Poet sings). We are not political economists. We boast no preternatural tension of nervous energy: our desires are as retiring as our acquirements. You must look for none of the subversions of modern philosophy in our artless details; for no culpable compliances with the fashions of those among whom the whirligig of Time may precipitate us!

We shall keep our own hours, our own thoughts, our own purposes. Mrs. Pecker's treasure, Bridget, accompanies her mistressthe nocturnal terrors of our sister, though under control of her sober mind, demanding the habitual presence at all hours of an easilywakened attendant. We shall avoid public conveyances, still

more those accumulations of worldliness the Hotels; where the purest principles may be vitiated by the contact of idle and unprofitable conversation, and the fare is such as it may be hoped all rightly-educated English palates would distrust. The larger part of a small furnished house engaged in Chapel Street (there was a soothing invitation in the name which decided the choice) will receive us. Believe me that distance or new scenes can make no difference in composed affections like ours. You shall hear from time to time of our wanderings in these remote regions.

Excuse lucidity. For the moment, I am summoned to the needful preparations. The nimble fingers of P, whose taste you have so often paid the just meed to, have been for some days busily occupied in our equipment. No French gew-gaws for your old friend who maintains-and will maintain herselfUnalterably and affectionately yours, DIANA RILL.

LETTER II. TO THE SAME.

No., Chapel Street, Belgrave Square,
April the 1st, 1846.

DEAREST MRS. RUSTLER,

with the

HERE we are, safe and sound mingled feelings of exultation and sadness, which conduce to the peculiarity of new scenes. Mr. Pecker has gone to The

The Editor of these "Researches" thinks it just to all parties, to call attention to certain omissions made by him in publication. The excellent writer's indulgence in scriptural quotations hardly suits the humour of a periodical devoted to miscellaneous discussions. Enthusiastic travellers, like Miss Rill, are somewhat too apt to forget what Sir Charles Grandison called "times and occasions," as any one familiar with the literature of Travellers' Books must admit. As one instance among a thousand, and among the least doctrinal in our collection, we may cite the following from the Album of an inn on the Lake of Como:

"Should it not be said to Travellers, Drink water out of thine own cistern and running water out of thine own well?'"-Proverbs, v. 15.

To which it may be replied, that country belongs to a person where duty and conscience bid him find himself.-Miss Sharpe, 21st Sept. 1844."