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The Mayor sent east, west, north and south To offer the Piper, by word of mouth,

Wherever it was men's lot to find him,
Silver and gold to his heart's content,
If he'd only return the way he went,
And bring the children behind him.
But soon they saw 'twas a lost endeavor,
And Piper and dancers were gone forever.
They made a decree that lawyers never

Should think their records dated duly,
If, after the day of the month and year
These words did not as well appear:
“And so long after what happened here
On the twenty-second day of July,
Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:"
And the better in memory to fix
The place of the children's last retreat,
They called it the Pied Piper's Street-
Where any one playing on pipe or tabor
Was sure for the future to lose his labor
Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern

To shock with mirth a street so solemn; But opposite the place of the cavern

They wrote the story on a column, And on the great church window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away; And there it stands to this very day. And I must not omit to say That in Transylvania there's a tribe Of alien people, that ascribe

The outlandish ways and dress

On which their neighbors lay such stress,
To their fathers and mothers having risen
Out of some subterraneous prison
Into which they were trepanned
Long time ago in a mighty band

Out of Hamelin town, in Brunswick land,
But how or why, they don't understand.

THE INDIAN CHIEFTAIN.

'Twas late in the autumn of '53

That, making some business-like excuse,
I left New York, which is home to me,
And went on the cars to Syracuse.
Born and cradled in Maiden Lane,

I went to school in Battery Row,
Till when, my daily bread to obtain,
They made me clerk to Muggins & Co.
But I belonged to a genteel set

Of clerks with souls above their sphere,
Who, night after night, together met

To feast on intellectual cheer.

ANON.

We talked of Irving and Bryant and Spratt—
Of Willis, and how much they pay him per page-
Of Sonntag and Jullien and Art, and all that-
And what d'ye call it ?—the Voice of the Age!

We wrote little pieces on purling brooks,

And meadow, and zephyr, and sea, and skyThings of which we had seen good descriptions in books, And the last between houses some sixty feet high!

Somehow in this way my soul got fired;

I wanted to see and hear and know

The glorious things that our hearts inspired-
The things that sparkle in poetry so!

And I had heard of the dark-browed braves

Of the famous Onondaga race,

Who once paddled the birch o'er Mohawk's waves,
Or swept his shores in war and the chase.

I'd see that warrior stern and fleet!

Aye, bowed though he be with oppression's abuse, I'd grasp his hand!-so in Chambers Street

I took my passage for Syracuse.

Arrived at last, I gazed upon

The smoke-dried wigwam of the tribe.

"The depot, sir"-suggested one-
I smiled to scorn the idle gibe.
Then to the baggage-man I cried,

"Oh, point me an Indian chieftain out!"
Rudely he grinned as he replied,
"You'll see 'em loafin' all about!"

Wounded, I turn-when lo, e'en now
Before me stands the sight I crave!
I know him by his swarthy brow;
It is an Onondaga brave!

I know him by his falcon eye,

His raven tress and mien of pride;
Those dingy draperies, as they fly,
Tell that a great soul throbs inside!
No eagle-feathered crown he wears,
Capping in pride his kingly brow;
But his crownless hat in grief declares,
"I am an unthroned monarch now!"
"O noble son of a royal line!"

I exclaim, as I gaze into his face,
"How shall I knit my soul to thine?

How right the wrongs of thine injured race?

What shall I do for thee, glorious one?

To soothe thy sorrows my soul aspires.

Speak! and say how the Saxon's son

May atone for the wrongs of his ruthless sires."
He speaks! he speaks!-that noble chief!
From his marble lips deep accents come;
And I catch the sound of his mighty grief-
"Ple' gi' me tree cent for git some rum !"

THE MULE.

ANON.

The mule is the only animal that Noah didn't take into the ark with him. I've looked over the freight list carefully, and could not see a mule way-billed for any place. So clear-headed a man did not dare take one on board, as

he knew he would kick a hole through her in less than a week. I don't know a man on whose head you could pour quicksilver and run less risk of its spilling off than on Noah's. He was a dreadful level-headed man, and before the freshet was over everybody on earth realized the fact. The origin of the mule is enveloped in a good deal of mystery. Tradition informs us that when the flood subsided, and the ark had landed on Mount Ararat, Noah was very much surprised in one of his first observations to find a good healthy mule standing on the top of an adjoining mountain. The same tradition informs us that the mule is the only animal that lived through the flood outside of the ark.

The mule can be considered in a good many ways, though the worst place to consider him is right from behind-anywhere within a radius of ten feet. I never consider a mule from that point unless I am looking out through the flue of a boiler.

Sea captains and people who have to do with mules always pay an extra rate to life insurance companies. A mule and a belt of country where yellow fever is indigenous generally stand the same as regards the death-rate.

The mule has one more leg than a milking-stool, and he can stand on one and wave the other three round in as many different directions. He has only three senseshearing, seeing and smelling. He has no more sense of taste than a stone jug, and will eat anything that contains nutriment, and he don't care two cents whether it be one per cent. or ninety-nine. All he asks is to pass him along his plate with whatever happens to be handy, and he won't go away and blow how poor the steak is. He just eats whatever is set before him, and asks no questions.

Mules are chiefly found in the South and West. They have been more abused than Judas Iscariot. A boy who would not throw a stone at a mule when he got a chance would be considered by his parents too mean to raise.

The mule is a good worker, but he cannot be depended on. He is liable to strike, and when a mule strikes, human calculation fails to find out any rule by which to reckon when he will go to work again. It is useless to pound him, for he will stand more beating than a sitting-room carpet. He has been known to stand eleven days in one spot, apparently thinking of something, and then start of again as though nothing had happened.

Down South, when they have a surplus of small darkies on the plantation, they send them out into the barn-yard to play where there is a loose mule. They always bid them good-by when they start out, for they are sure the parting will be final. This is the most economical style of funeral now in the market.

One of the dead certainties about a mule is that he is sure-footed, especially with his hind feet. He never misplaces them. If he advertises that his feet will be at a certain spot at a certain time, with a sample of mule shoes, you will always find them there at the appointed time. He is as reliable as the day of judgment, and he never cancels an engagement. Every man now living who drove a mule team during the war now draws a pension.

I never owned a mule. I came near buying one once. He was a fine-looking animal; his ears stood up like the side spires of an Episcopal church. His tail was trimmed down so that it looked like a tar brush leaning up against him. He was striped off like the American flag, and Raphael's cherubs never looked more angelic than did that mule. He looked all innocence, though he was in no sense. The owner sat in the wagon, with his chin resting on his hand and his elbow resting on his knee. In the other hand he held a stick with a brad in the end of it. I examined the mule and asked the man a few questions, and, out of mere form, inquired if the mule was kind, or if he kicked. "Kind? Kicked?" said the man, and those were the last words he ever uttered. He reached his stick over the front

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