them. Let us only consider him as he appears to the impatient class of readers those who refuse to read 'Hohenstiel Schwangau' and 'Sordello,' but are capable of delighting in the shorter pieces.
Has he humour? The 'Pied Piper' of our cartoon is an answer. Everybody knows it. The Piper—
His queer long coat, from heel to head,
Was half of yellow and half of red;
And he himself was tall and thin,
With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin;
And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,
No tuft on cheek, nor beard on chin—
rids the town of the rats that infest it. As he pipes, they come out of the houses and follow him down the street.
Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,
Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats,
Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,
Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,
Families by tens and dozens,
Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives,
Follow'd the piper for their lives.
He leads them to the river, when all are drowned except one, who describes the effect of the piping:
At the first shrill notes of the pipe
I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,
And putting apples, wondrous ripe,
Into a cider-press's gripe:
And a moving away of pickle-tub boards,
And a leaving ajar of conserve cupboards,
And a drawing the corks of train-oil flasks,
And a breaking the hoops of butter casks;
And it seem'd as if a voice
(Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery
Is breathed) call'd out, 'O rats, rejoice!
The world is grown to one vast dry-saltery!'
Is he pathetic? Read 'Count Gismond,' where his wife recalls that day when he saved her name at the peril of his life, and slew the foul slan-
