men, divers, have taught that the rich are merely trustees for the poor, and that goods and chattels are only lent to them. Shall he be condemned who executes the judgments of brotherly love and justice? God forbid. Robin, we take thy hand before the whole world, and call thee a good fellow. Thou shalt have our vote for any office thou desirest in the shades.

Those other yeomen be lightly passed over. and skill. William of

named with Robin and little John, must not Modern times are shamed by their strength Cloudesley, with an arrow from his bow, cleft

an hazel rod in twain, at the distance of four hundred yards; and with another arrow shot an apple from his boy's head, at the distance of one hundred and twenty-five yards! Is there any gentleman hunter extant who will shoot against this performance? Bring up your rifles, good people. William and his associates, we regret to admit, had some vague and indefinite notions on the subject of other people's property; and it does not appear that they were so discriminate as Robin Hood. But then they all finally repented, and were pardoned by the king, and were confessed by the bishop, and the king made William a gentleman, and gave him eighteen pence a day to bear his bow, and the queen gave him thirteen pence a day, and made his wife her chief gentlewoman; and then these good yeomen went forth and got cleansed with holy water,

"And after came and dwelled the kynge

And died good men all three."

And so finally concludeth the legend:

"Thus endeth the lives of these good yeomen,
God send them eternal blysse ;

And all that with a hand-bowe shoteth,

That of heven may never mysse. Amen."

Amen! amen! with all our heart. Three cheers for the ghosts of Adam Bell & Co. Go it, boys! Hur-wait for the word: - Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!

Much remains to be said of hunting. Many hunters remain unsung. We have only brief moments to commemorate that exquisite fancy of the sport, fierce and gentle falconry.

We have a notion, that of all delights that ever it was given to man to enjoy, this must have been the most delightful.-Gentlemen of the cockpit, a fight in the air between a pigeon hawk and a blue heron! Bold was he, and cunning, who first tamed the fiercest birds of prey, and taught them to sit upon his fist, to fly at his command, to pursue, to strike, to return, docile, faithful servants. Gentle, eager, and as humble, and fond of the sport as our own good setters, Horatio. Think of the king of birds soaring to the third heaven, and then hovering and swooping, and hovering and swooping, until, as it were, he

could get good sight, and then, with terrible certainty, dashing down upon the devoted shoulders of an antlered monarch of the scrub oaks, and tearing out his brains, at the command of a master! Imagine yon duck hawk, (falco peregrinus) tamed, and thrown off, unhooded, from your fist, mounting into upper air, and thence, with lightning speed, striking out a wild gander from a flock of straining honkers, and then, conscious of his deserved reward, sailing back to the bondage of his accustomed jesses! Why, people do not understand the virtue of birds. We are neophytes in ornithology and ornithodynamics. We hardly know "a hawk from a hand-saw."

For ourselves, it is our delight to read and dream of the goodly companies of noble knights and high-born dames of olden time, riding out with princely attendance to fly their hawks. We seem to hear their prancing steeds, and their gentle

"Jennettes of Spain that ben so white,

Trapped to the ground with velvet bright,"

their happy voices, and the dogs beating the bushes by the stream-side. We see the bittern flushed; and then, falcon, and marlyon, and goshawk, quick unhooded, and upsailing. We hear the tinkling of their silver bells- we see the general rush of the whole happy throng following the pursuit - our breath is quick-up, up soars the bittern in lessening gyration higher and yet higher, to keep, if, alas! he may, keep above his unpitying pursuers, and avoid their fatal beaks. Vain hope! that falcon hath o'ertopped him, and now he pounces, and the poor victim feels death in his struck skull, and surrenders his life among the stars!

Not always victorious is the falcon. There are vicissitudes in the war. The hern hath a long, strong, straight, sharp-pointed bill; and if the hawk be unwary, he will spit his breast upon the dangerous spear thrown up to receive him, and, pierced through and through with a fatal wound, die ingloriously. We know a kindred bird, which baymen call "the straight-up ;" a biped something between the heron and the quaack, that is competent to do good execution after this wise. (We once ourselves, unhappily, received a fearful thrust in our dexter, from a scoundrel whom we had wing broken on a salt marsh, which disabled us from pulling a trigger for a good fortnight.) — Somerville describes the performance to the life to the death :

"Now like a wearied stag

That stands at bay, the hern provokes their rage,
Close by his languid wing, in downy plumes
Covers his fatal beak, and, cautious, hides
The well-dissembled fraud. The falcon darts
Like lightning from above, and in her breast
Receives the latent death: down plum she falls
Bounding from earth, and with her trickling gore
Defiles her gaudy plumage."

Henry Inman! wilt thou not paint this picture? It is a striking illustration of "catching a tartar."

We are determined to become a faulkoner. We will build us a mew and an aerie, and we will speak to some country friend to catch us a young hen-hawk, and a few butcher-birds, and we will revive the science. We know a pleasant meadow, where the curlew screams, and the straight-up flaps his heavy wings, and the newly-paired seges of blue herons sit solemn by the border of the interwinding rivulet, watching with hungry patience what truant eel, or backsliding young crab, leaving the safe channel, shall "coldly furnish forth their marriage breakfast," and dear Mary shall ride with us to the green rushes, and

Here Mary, leaning over our shoulder, shakes us gently by the ear, and tells us that we are impecunious, and points to a passage in aristocratic, cross, old Burton, and reads to us, unwilling we confess we hate the truth sometimes-as follows: "Hunting and hawking are honest recreations, and fit for some great men; but not for every base, inferior person."

That is not we, Mary dear. bred, and educated, and” –

"Docti Sumus; we are a gentleman

"Fiddle-de-dee; what are birth and education in a bank note world?" listen! listen! "who, while they maintain their faulkoner, and dogs, and hunting nags, their wealth runs away with their hounds, and their fortunes fly away with their hawks." Reader, farewell! We are melancholy.

A REPLY.

"TRUST in thee?" ay! dearest-there's no one but must

Unless truth be a fable, in such as thee trust!

For who can see heaven's own hue in those eyes,

And doubt that truth with it came down from the skies,

When each thought of thy bosom, like morning's young light,
Almost ere it's born flashes there on his sight?

"Trust in thee?” why, bright one, thou couldst not betray,
While thy heart and thine eyes are for ever at play!

Yet he who unloving can study the one,

Is so certain to be by the other undone,

That, if he cares aught for his quiet, he must

Like me, sweetest Norah, in both of them trust.

A SHARK STORY.

BY HEROD ANTI-METRE.

PART FIRST.

1.

'Tis midnight by the helmsman's bell;
And slumber they, or ill or well,
The watch must rally to the knell ;
Tardily, comrades, cluster we
Drowsy or wakeful, in sorrow or glee,
Once more for toil, or for reverie
All alone on a summer sea-
Nay, but it greets us gloriously!
All around is silver light,

And all below is rest,

And breezes come so softly slight

We may not, would we, urge our flight

From a scene thus blest;

From the lifting rail 'tis a pleasant sight
To witness each tiny crest,

Glimmering, so pearly white,

In the gentle sheen of a tropic night

When night is loveliest ;

And dear, I ween, is the welcome bright

Of the fairy pathway in the brine,

That twinkles away to the west, in a line;

Broad, with countless lustres studded,

And increasing glory flooded,

Till it fades, alas! too soon,

Beneath the round imperial moon.

2.

There is not a wandering sail to intrude
Save ours, on the sacred solitude;

Fitfully by the zephyr borne,

Flapping and filling, and sweeping on,

And flinging a shadow to the lee

Where the ocean meteors form and flee,

A rushing and changeful galaxy:

We're many a league from the treacherous shore,

And the coral reefs are far below,

And some are watching the ocean flow,

And some recounting past perils o'er,

Listlessly pacing to and fro,

And some, in dreams, at their homes once more; Careless and tranquil, whence fear we a foe?

3.

From the bosom of yon fleecy cloud,

That has risen from the sea

In the farthest west, so hurriedly
As if it were with life endowed;

Yon Titan cloud, that will not rest,
Toiling up to the middle sky,
With its many-volumed crest-

All silvered above, and its baleful breast
So murky in its die.

4.

Is it the far wind, careering,
Solemnly invades the ear

With a low sound full of fear?

"So idle are the winds, and veering,
Scarcely will our vessel steer;
And ill requited were our care
To note and guard against whate'er
But appals a sickly hearing,
While breezes are thus feebly fair."
Yet, bold mariner, beware,

That voice forebodes the tempest near,

Now strip your tall uninjured mast,
Too soon to bow before the blast,
For the hour is fleeting fast;

And soon it may be yours to rue
Undone what ye have power to do-

Nay, pause ye now? then pause for ever,

It comes, with the sweep of a swoln river!

5.

The shock is past —

The maddening rush, the quivering strain,
The spirit-sweep of the hurricane,

The flood-like fall of the sheeted rain,

And the blinding spray from the billows cast:

And softer light shall stream again

Ere long, upon the troubled tide,

And the furrowed foam subside;

But never again, o'er the ocean plain
Shall that bark in beauty glide;

Whelm'd beneath the tempest's wing,
A lustreless and shapeless thing,
Vanished all her graceful pride.
Ebbing and curling,

In glimmer and gloom,

The waters are whirling

To hollow her tomb.

6.

And hark! to the sudden and startling cry

Of her hapless crew, in their agony.

'Tis a fearful death that meets their eye,
And met with a more fearful shriek;
One, all languishing and weak,
Perish'd ere he left his pillow;
And one is buffeting the billow,
And four are crawling along the wreck
Helplessly at their chieftain's beck;
(Who, sooner had he sought the deck
Had saved them from the blow that smote)

Their only hope, a tiny boat,

Swung with many a frantic turn,

Half immersed and half afloat

Fettered to the failing stern.

7.

"Cheerly, comrades, cheerily, Another stroke, and she is free