minister to the
monster's appetite. And yonder in the clock: what agonized face is that
we see? By heavens, it is the squire of the parish. What business has he
there? Let us not ask. Suffice it to say, that he has, in the hurry of
the moment, left up stairs his br----; his--psha! a part of his dress,
in short, with a number of bank-notes in the pockets. Look in the next
page, and you will see the ferocious, bacon-devouring ruffian of a
miller is actually causing this garment to be carried through the
village and cried by the town-crier. And we blush to be obliged to
say that the demoralized miller never offered to return the banknotes,
although he was so mighty scrupulous in endeavoring to find an owner for
the corduroy portfolio in which he had found them.

Passing from this painful subject, we come, we regret to state, to a
series of prints representing personages not a whit more moral. Burns's
famous "Jolly Beggars" have all had their portraits drawn by Cruikshank.
There is the lovely "hempen widow," quite as interesting and romantic as
the famous Mrs. Sheppard, who has at the lamented demise of her husband
adopted the very same consolation.

"My curse upon them every one,
They've hanged my braw John Highlandman;

. . . .

And now a widow I must mourn
Departed joys that ne'er return;
No comfort but a hearty can
When I think on John Highlandman."

Sweet "raucle carlin," she has none of the sentimentality of the English
highwayman's lady; but being wooed by a tinker and

"A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle
Wha us'd to trystes and fairs to driddle,"

prefers the practical to the merely musical man. The tinker sings with a
noble candor, worthy of a fellow of his strength of body and station in
life--

"My bonnie lass, I work in brass,
A tinker is my station;
I've travell'd round all Christian ground
In this my occupation.
I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd
In many a noble squadron;
But vain they search'd when off I march'd
To go an' clout the caudron."

It was his ruling passion. What was military glory to him, forsooth?
He had the greatest contempt for it, and loved freedom and his copper
kettle a thousand times better--a kind of hardware Diogenes. Of fiddling
he has no better opinion. The picture represents the "sturdy caird"
taking "poor gut-scraper" by the