"A goodly gray! why, then, I say, That gray belongs to me!

"Let me endorse again my horse,
Delivered safe and sound;
And gladly I will give the man
A bottle and a pour.d!"

The wine was drunk-the money paid,
Though not without remorse,

To pay another man so much
For riding on his horse ;-

And let the chase again take place
For many a long, long year-
John Huggins will not ride again
To hunt the Epping Deer!

MORAL.

Thus pleasure oft eludes our grasp
Just when we think to grip her:
And hunting after Happiness,
We only hunt the slipper.

JACK HALL.

IS very hard when men forsake
This melancholy world, and make
A bed of turf, they cannot take
A quiet doze,

But certain rogues will come and break
Their "bone" repose.

'Tis hard we can't give up our breath,
And to the earth our earth bequeath,
Without Death-Fetches after death,
Who thus exhume us;

And snatch us from our homes beneath,
And hearths posthumous.

The tender lover comes to rear

The mournful urn, and shed his tear-
Her glorious dust, he cries, is here!
Alack! alack!

The while his Sacharissa dear

Is in a sack!

'Tis hard one cannot lie amid The mould, beneath a coffin-lid,

But thus the Faculty will bid

Their rogues break through it,

If they don't want us there, why did
They send us to it?

One of these sacrilegious knaves,
Who crave as hungry vulture craves,
Behaving as the ghoul behaves,

'Neath church-yard wall—

Mayhap because he fed on graves,
Was named Jack Hall.

By day it was his trade to go
Tending the black coach to and fro;
And sometimes at the door of woe,
With emblems suitable,
He stood with brother Mute, to show
That life is mutable.

But long before they pass'd the ferry,
The dead that he had help'd to bury,
He sack'd-(he had a sack to carry
The bodies off in)

In fact, he let them have a very
Short fit of coffin.

Night after night, with crow and spade,
He drove this dead but thriving trade,
Meanwhile his conscience never weigh'd
A single horsehair;

On corses of all kinds he prey'd,

A perfect corsair!

At last-it may be, Death took spite,
Or, jesting only, meant to fright-
He sought for Jack night after night
The churchyards round;

And soon they met, the man and sprite,
In Pancras' ground.

Jack, by the glimpses of the moon,
Perceiv'd the bony knacker soon,
An awful shape to meet at noon
Of night and lonely;

But Jack's tough courage did but swo a
A minute only.

Anon he gave his spade a swing
Aloft, and kept it brandishing,

Ready for what mishaps might spring
From this conjunction;

Funking indeed was quite a thing
Beside his function.

"Hollo!" cried Death, "d'ye wish your sands Run out? the stoutest never stands

A chance with me,-to my commands
The strongest truckles;

But I'm your friend-so let's shake hands,
I should say-knuckles."

Jack, glad to see th' old sprite so sprightly
And meaning nothing but uprightly,
Shook hands at once, and, bowing slightly,
His mull did proffer:

But Death, who had no nose, politely

Declin'd the offer.

Then sitting down upon a bank,
Leg over leg, shank over shank,
Like friends for conversation frank,
That had no check on:

Quoth Jack unto the Lean and Lank,
"You're Death, I reckon."