THE DWARF AND THE GIANT.-GOLDSMITH.

1. A DWARF and a Giant were friends, and kept together. They made a bargain that they would never forsake each other, but go to seek adventures. The first battle they fought was with two Saracens, and the Dwarf, who was very courageous, dealt one of the champions a most angry blow.

2. It did the Saracen but very little injury, who, lifting up his sword, fairly struck off the poor Dwarf's arm. He was now in woful plight; but the Giant coming to his assistance, in a short time left the two Saracens dead on the plain, and the Dwarf cut off the man's head out of spite. They then traveled on to another adventure.

3. This was against three bloody-minded Satyrs, who were carrying away a damsel in distress. The Dwarf was not quite so fierce now as before; but, for all that, struck the first blow; which was returned by another, that knocked out his eye; but the Giant was soon up with them, and, had they not fled, would certainly have killed them every one.

4. They were all very joyful for this victory, and the damsel who was relieved, fell in love with the Giant, and married him. They now travelled far, and farther than I can tell, till they met with a company of robbers. The Giant, for the first time, was foremost now; but the Dwarf was not far behind. The battle was stout and long. Wherever the Giant came, all fell before him; but the Dwarf had like to have been killed more than once. At last the victory declared for the two adventurers; but the Dwarf lost his leg.

5. The Dwarf had now lost an arm, a leg, and an eye, while the Giant was without a single wound. Upon which he cried out to his little companion :-"My little Hero, this is glorious sport! Let us get one victory more, and then we shall have honor forever." "No," cries the Dwarf, who was by this time grown wiser, "no; I declare off; I'll fight no more: for I find in every battle that you get all the honor and rewards, but all the blows fall upon me."

MEMORABILIA.*

TIME.

1. Ever eating, never cloying,
All-devouring, all-destroying;
Never finding full repast,

Till I eat the world at last.

THE VOWELS.

2. We are little airy creatures,

All of different voice and features;
One of us in glass is set;

One of us you'll find in jet;
Another you may see in tin,
And a fourth a box within;
If the fifth you should pursue,
It can never fly from you.

TRUE WIT.

3. True wit is like the brilliant stone,
Dug from the Indian mine;

Which boasts two diff'rent powers in one,

To cut as well as shine,

Genius, like that, if polish'd right,

With self-same gifts abounds;
Appears at once both keen and bright,
And sparkles while it wounds.

BENEVOLENCE.

4. The other day, said Ned to Joe,

(Near Bedlam's confines groping,) "Whene'er I hear the cries of woe, My hand is always open."

* MEMORABILIA, that is, things memorable, or worthy to be remem

bered.

"I own," says Joe," that to the poor,
(You prove it every minute,)

Your hand is open, to be sure,
But then there's nothing in it!"

A FAITHLESS GIRL.

5. Mistaken nature here has join'd
A beauteous face, and ugly mind;
In vain the faultless strike,

When soul and body are unlike :
Pity that snowy breast should hide
Deceit and avarice and pride.
So in rich jars from China brought,
With glowing colors gaily wrought,
Oft-times the subtle spider dwells,
With secret venom bloated swells,
Weaves all his fatal nets within,
As unsuspected, as unseen.

MUTUAL PITY.

6. John, ever jovial, ever gay,
To appetite a slave,

Still games and drinks his life away,
And laughs to see me grave.
"Tis thus that we two disagree;
So different is our whim;
The fellow fondly laughs at me,
While I could cry for him!

TWO SIMPLETONS.

7. John thought a wild profusion great, And therefore spent his whole estate; James thinks the wealthy are ador'd, And saves what misers blush to hoard: Their passions, merit, fate the same,— They thirst and starve alike for fame!

WHAT'S HONOR?

8. Not to be captious; not unjustly fight;
"Tis to confess what's wrong, and do what's right.

TO A SLOVENLY POETESS.

9. To see a lady of such grace,

With so much sense and such a face

So slatternly, is shocking;

Oh! if you would with Venus vie,
Your pen and poetry lay by

Until you mend your stocking!

THE ARTIST SURPRISED.-J. HOGG.

1. Ir may not be known to all the admirers of the genius of Albrecht Durez, that the famous engraver was endowed with a better half, so peevish in temper, that she was the torment not only of his own life, but also of his pupils and domestics. Some of the former were cunning enough to purchase peace for themselves by conciliating the common tyrant —but woe to those unwilling or unable to offer aught in propitiation. Even the wiser ones were spared only by having their offenses visited upon a scape-goat. This unfortunate individual was Samuel Duhobret, a disciple whom Durez had admitted into his school out of charity. He was employed in painting signs and the coarse tapestry then used in Germany. He was about forty years of age, little, ugly, and humpbacked; was the butt of every ill joke among his fellow disciples, and was picked out as a special object of dislike by Madame Durez. But he bore all with patience, and ate, without complaint, the scanty crusts given him every day for dinner, while his companions often fared sumptuously.

2. Poor Samuel had not a spice of envy or malice in his

heart. He would at any time have toiled half the night to assist or serve those who were wont, oftenest, to laugh at him, or abuse him loudest for his stupidity. True-he had not the qualities of social humor or wit; but he was an example of indefatigable industry. He came to his studies every morning at daybreak; and remained at work until sunset. Then he retired into his lonely chamber, and wrought for his own

amusement.

3. Duhobret labored three years in this way: giving himself no time for exercise or recreation. He said nothing to a single human being of the paintings he produced in the solitude of his cell, by the light of his lamp. But his bodily energies wasted and declined under incessant toil. There were none sufficiently interested in the poor artist to mark the feverish hue of his wrinkled cheek, or the increasing attenuation of his mis-shapen frame. None observed that the uninviting pittance set aside for his mid-day repast, remained for several days untouched. Samuel made his appearance regularly as ever, and bore, with the same meekness, the gibes of his fellow-pupils, or the taunts of Madame Durez; and worked with the same untiring assiduity, though his hands would sometimes tremble, and his eyes become suffused—a weakness probably owing to the excessive use he had made of them.

4. One morning Duhobret was missing at the scene of his daily labors. His absence created much remark, and many were the jokes passed upon the occasion. One surmised this, another that, as the cause of the phenomenon; and it was finally agreed that the poor fellow must have worked himself into an absolute skeleton, and taken his final stand in the glass frame of some apothecary; or been blown away by a puff of wind, while his door happened to stand open. No one thought of going to his lodgings to look after him or his remains.

2. Meanwhile the object of their mirth was tossing on a bed of sickness. Disease, which had been slowly sapping the foundations of his strength, burned in every vein; his eyes