Musing thus, the other day,
In a bight within a bay,
I'd a sudden thought that yet some
Purpose for this piece of jetsom
Might be found; and straight supplied it.
On the turf I knelt beside it,
Disengaged it from the boulders,
Hoisted it upon my shoulders,
Bore it home, and, with a few
Tin-tacks and a pot of glue,
Mended it, affix'd a ledge;
Set it by the elder-hedge;
And in May, with horn and kettle,
Coax'd a swarm of bees to settle.
Here around me now they hum;
And in autumn should you come
Westward to my Cornish home,
There'll be honey in the comb--
Honey that, with clotted cream
(Though I win not your esteem
As a bard), will prove me wise,
In that, of the double prize
Sent by Hermes from the sea, I've
Sold the song and kept the bee-hive.

WRESTLERS.

As Boutigo's Van (officially styled the "Vivid") slackened its
already inconsiderable pace at the top of the street, to slide
precipitately down into Troy upon a heated skid, the one outside
passenger began to stare about him with the air of a man who compares
present impressions with old memories. His eyes travelled down the
inclined plane of slate roofs, glistening in a bright interval
between two showers, to the masts which rocked slowly by the quays,
and from thence to the silver bar of sea beyond the harbour's mouth,
where the outline of Battery Point wavered unsteadily in the dazzle
of sky and water. He sniffed the fragrance of pilchards cooking and
the fumes of pitch blown from the ship-builders' yards; and scanned
with some curiosity the men and women who drew aside into doorways to
let the van pass.

He was a powerfully made man of about sixty-five, with a solemn,
hard-set face. The upper lip was clean-shaven and the chin decorated
with a square, grizzled beard--a mode of wearing the hair that gave
prominence to the ugly lines of the mouth. He wore a Sunday-best
suit and a silk hat. He carried a blue band-box on his knees, and
his enormous hands were spread over the cover. Boutigo, who held the
reins beside him, seemed, in comparison with this mighty passenger,
but a trivial accessory of his own vehicle.

"Where did you say William Dendle lives?" asked the big man, as the
van swung round a sharp corner and came to a halt under the signboard
of "The Lugger."

"Straight on for maybe quarter of a mile--turn down a cour