"Heighday!" cried the master; "what have we here?"
"A gentleman in distress."
"I should think so: but how came you in this pond?"
"I'll tell you when I am out."
"Help, all of you, fellows!" says the gentleman. "Now, sir, hold fast: I was in search of a drunken uncle who has escaped from his servants. Pull away, boys!—I expected to find him in this horse-pond, and I discover a sober gentleman in his place."
N.B. I did not think it necessary to rectify this latter mistake.
Max.
INSCRIPTION FOR A CEMETERY.
The grave must be the resting-place Of all who come of Adam's race. What matters it, if few or more The years which our frail nature bore? If we upon the roll of Fame Left an imperishable name; Or, safe within some calm retreat, Escaped the turmoil and the heat, The stir, the struggle, and the strife, That make the sum of human life? Of all the family of man, Since first yon rolling spheres began Amid the boundless realms of space Their silent, dread, eternal race, There's little to be said beside, But that they lived, and that they died. Sooner or later, 'tis the doom} Of all, within the quiet tomb} To find a refuge, and a home.}