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Mr. Fitzjones De Beverley had trained Runjeet Singh to dance, and the very first sound of it had an extraordinary effect on the unwieldy animal, for instantly setting off, swinging his huge limbs to and fro, in his mammoth trot, he made across the meadows, straight for the lawn of Wadlington House, lured by that siren music. Chickenbody followed afar off, wringing his hands, and tearing the very buttons off his shirt-front in horror and vexation.

There was a fête champêtre being held on the lawn of Wadlington House, and a young cornet in the Dragoons had played that fatal tune preliminary to the first quadrille. Sir Hercules, yellower and more pompous than a bull-frog, was begging everybody to select their partners. At that moment there came a crash, as of a runaway waggon, among the laurels and box-trees in the shrubbery, and Runjeet Singh appeared upon the scene, repeating from time to time his one alarming remark, “ Urumph," and thrashing the air with his proboscis. The ladies screamed and ran; one dandy fell into a veal-pie, another sat down on a pile of jelly, and the cornet dropped his instrument.

Sir Hercules, though a peppery“ old Indian,” was no coward; he at once perceived that the elephant was a tame animal and quite harmless, and rationally concluded that he had escaped from its keeper, who could not be far off. All he had therefore to do was, he thought, to keep it at bay, and prevent its doing more damage than necessary, although even now one enormous foot rested on a bed of Tom-Thumb geraniums, and the other on a promising plot of calceolarias. Sir Hercules, therefore, with great gallantry, advanced upon the elephant, raising his bamboo cane in one hand, and waving the other in the way drovers do when steering a " difficult” and rather irascible ox. The instant he did so, to the astonishment of everybody, Runjeet Singh reared himself up on his hind-legs, and paced slowly before Sir Hercules Wadlington, nodding his big head to the tune of “ Poor Uncle Sam,” which some violins in

side the house, unconscious of danger, were playing. While yet in this attitude, which Chickenbody from behind a laurel-bush regarded with mingled horror and surprise, two men broke forth from behind the servants who had come running to the spot; one wore a white hat, banded with rusty crape, the other wore a once white turban. They were Mr. Fitzjones De Beverley and the real Arab, who had been invited to a share of the festivities of the Servants' Hall. They ran forward, exclaiming, half out of breath : "No, yes-no,

yes; it is !"

Fitzjones bowed, and threw himself at the feet of Sir Hercules; the real Arab made a salaam, and did the same. Chickenbody came forward and apologized for the elephant, who had now taken to stand on his head, on a border of hepaticas, and could not be moved by threat or entreaty, till Sir Hercules stormed into the house and stopped “Poor Uncle Sam.”

“This man," said the unblushing De Beverley, "has stolen our elephant, Sir Hercules; he has robbed us of our little all.”

“Yes, he big thief," said Abdallah. “ Massa, he rob elephant.”

“Your proof, gentlemen," said Sir Hercules, patting the elephant. "How do you prove this intelligent animal to be yours ?”

Abdallah fumbled in his pocket, and producing a round lump of dry clay, spoke half in Irish and half in Arabic to Mr. De Beverley.

My faithful Arab," said the arch-rogue, “ tells me in his native language that the clay now produced is a careful impression of our elephant's footmark. He will now, if you please, compare the two."

6 Wonderful !" said all the ladies.

Abdallah knelt down, lifted Runjeet Singh's right foot, and for some minutes appeared to be comparing its surface with that of the enormous seal. At last he rose, jumped three times in the air, and said, “Begor, Salamah, all right, massa. It's our elephant. Him

any court

very big thief." Here he pointed to the unhappy and trembling Chickenbody, who presented himself dumb with astonishment.

“Quite enough, quite enough," said Sir Hercules. “I require no more proof; it is enough for of justice that ever sat on the bench. John, give this man into custody. Good people, the elephant is yours : you may remove it; but you must remember you are bound to appear as evidence when this unfortunate wretch is brought to trial."

Poor Chickenbody was removed, fighting, kicking, and loudly remonstrating. De Beverley and the real Arab remained to exhibit their elephant, and net some six or seven guineas, after which they made off to the nearest railway station, and transported Runjeet Singh to the great metropolis.

Poor Chickenbody was eventually released after three adjournments, on the representations of Porky Jenkins, whom some malicious people believed to have been an accomplice in De Beverley's plot.

But he never heard any more of Runjeet Singh, and never obtained

any redress.

I claim for my story a special moral, comprised in a few words-Never raffle for an elephant.

(By kind permission of the Author.)

THE USURER'S DAUGHTER.

ANONYMOUS.

On, Susan the fair is a beautiful maid,
Her
pa

is embarked in the usuring trade,
His cash he lends out at a ruinous interest,
And his debtors lets neither in summer nor winter rest.
Young William, the clerk of our Susan's papa,
For Susan he sighs, saying frequently, “Ah!”
But William, alas! is a terrible fright-
A Bill that would not be accepted at sight.

He squints with a pair of odd eyes in his head-
His cheeks they are yellow-his nose it is red-
His mouth has a chronic incipient yawn :-
As safe as the Bank, the account's not o'erdrawn !

So Susan declares, in tones terribly chill,
That she'd far sooner die than she'd make him her Will.
So he—for his love some return who expects
Receives but a check that's endorsed

no effects.”

And Susan her lovers can count by the score
Who have told her their passion a thousand times o'er.
But unluckily short these young gentlemen stop
With their pledges of love-for they none of them pop.

The reason of this, I suppose, is they rather
Object to the usuring trade of the father :
They none of them fancy becoming identified
With a father-in-law who's so fifty-per-centified!

For her pa was considered so cruel and bad,
“ The Old Gentleman” long as a Nick-name he'd had.
So the lovers, all shying this Lucifer match,
Say they'd go to the deuce ere they'd come to the scratch.

But Time hastens on-does not spare her a bit,
In lines on her forehead the issue is writ!
He plays with her beauty sad havoc, I guess, -
It does such'execution as proves a distress !

Poor Susan, most bitter at last is her

cupShe's quite at a discount. She's not taken up, But gently let down by her lovers. How few Care now to put in their appearance to Sue!

At last her papa, Susan's case in a fright about
His child being (fifty-per-sent to the right-about;
And, hoping her heart to her suitor may soften,
Just backs the old Bill she'd dishonoured so often,

So William, forgetting her former denial,
With Common Pleas moves once again for a trial.
And she-as her Will has been proved and found true-
Consents to be his without further ado.

MORAL.

Pas! let this catch, while this page you peruse, your

eyeNever, oh, never be guilty of usury. Daughters, to this little fact do not blind your eyeYou may say “No” once too often; so mind your eye. Lovers, on maidens who fix so intent your eyeThough they may snub you at first, peradventure,-I Know they'll come round if you'll just wait—a century!

THE JUDGMENT OF THE POETS.

WILLIAM COWPER.

Two nymphs, both nearly of an age,

Of numerous charms possess'd,
A warm dispute once chanced to wage,

Whose temper was the best.

The worth of each had been complete,

Had both alike been mild ;
But one, although her smile was sweet,

Frown'd oftener than she smiled.

And in her humour, when she frown'd,

Would raise her voice and roar,
And shake with fury to the ground

The garland that she wore.

The other was of gentler cast,

From all such frenzy clear;
Her frowns were seldom known to last,

And never proved severe.

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