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PYTHAGOREAN FANCIES.

Of all creeds after the Christian-I incline most to the Pythagorean. I like the notion of inhabiting the body of a bird. It is the next thing to being a cherub—at least, according to the popular image of a boy's head and wings; a fancy that savors strangely of the Pythagorean.

I think nobly of the soul with Malvolio, but not so meanly, as he does by implication, of a bird-body. What disparagement would it seem to shuffle off a crippled, palsied, languid, bed-ridden carcase, and find yourself floating above the world-in a flood of sunshine-under the feathers of a Royal Eagle of the Andes?

For a beast-body I have less relish-and yet how many men are there who seem predestined to such an occupancy, being in this life even more than semi-brutal! How many human faces that at least countenance, if they do not confirm this part of the Brahminical Doctrine! What apes, foxes, pigs, curs, and cats, walk our metropolis-to say nothing of him shambling along Carnaby or Whitechapel—

A BUTCHER!

Whoe'er has gone thro' London Street,
Has seen a Butcher gazing at his meat,
And how he keeps

Gloating upon a sheep's

Or bullock's personals as if his own ;
How he admires his halves

And quarters and his calves,

As if in truth upon his own legs grown ;-
His fat! his suet!

His kidneys peeping elegantly thro' it!

His thick flank!

And his thin!

His shank!

His shin!

Skin of his skin, and bone too of his bone!

With what an air

He stands aloof, across the thoroughfare
Gazing—and will not let a body by,

Tho' buy! buy! buy! be constantly his cry;
Meanwhile with arms a-kimbo, and a pair
Of Rhodian legs, he revels in a stare
At his Joint Stock-for one may call it so,
Howbeit without a Co.

The dotage of self-love was never fonder
Than he of his brute bodies all a-row;
Narcissus in the wave did never ponder
With love so strong,

On his "portrait charmant,

As our vain Butcher on his carcase yonder.

Look at his sleek round skull!

How bright his cheek, how rubicund his nose is!
His visage seems to be

Ripe for beef-tea;

Of brutal juices the whole man is full-
In fact, fulfilling the metempsychosis,

The Butcher is already half a Bull.

Surpassing the Butcher in his approximation to the brute, behold yon vagrant Hassan--a wandering camel driver and exhibitor, parading, for a few pence, the creature's outlandish hump, yet burdened himself with a bunch of flesh between the shoulders. For the sake of the implicit moral

merely, or as an illustration of comparative physiology, the show is valuable; but as an example of the Pythagorean dispensation, it is above its appraisement. The retributive metamorphosis has commenced-the Beast has set his seal upon the Human Form-a little further, and he will be ready for a halter and a show-man.

As there are instances of men thus transmuting into the brute; so there are brutes that, by peculiar human manners and resemblance, seem to hint at a former and a better condition. The ouran-outang, and the monkey, notoriously claim this relationship; and there are other tribes, and in particular some which use the erect posture, that are apt to provoke such Pythagorean associations. For example: --I could never read of the great William Penn's interview with the American savages, or look on the painting commemorative of that event, without dreaming that I had seen it acted over again at the meeting of a tribe of Kangaroos and a Penguin. The Kangaroos, sharp-sighted, vigilant, cunning, wild, swift, and active, as the Indians themselves; -the Penguin, very sleek, guiltless of arms, very taciturn, very sedate, except when jumping; upright in its conduct -a perfect Quaker. It confirmed me, in this last fancy, to read of the conduct of these gentle birds when assaulted, formerly, with long poles, by the seamen of Captain Cook ---buffetings which the Penguins took quietly on either cheek, or side of the head, and died as meekly and passively as the primitive Martyrs of the Sect!

It is difficult to say to what excesses the desire of fresh victual, after long salt junketting, may drive a mariner; for my own part, I could not have handled a pole in that persecution without strong Pythagorean misgivings.

There is a Juvenile Poem,-"The Notorious Glutton," by Miss Taylor of Ongar, in which a duck falls sick and

dies in a very human-like way. I could never eat duck for some time after the perusal of those verses;-it seemed as if in reality the soul of my grandam might inhabit such a bird. In mere tenderness to past womanhood, I could never lay the death-scene elsewhere than in a lady's chamber— with the body of the invalid propped up by comfortable pillows on a nursery chair. The sick attendant seemed one that had relished drams aforetime-had been pompously officious at human dissolutions, and would announce that "all was over!" with the same flapping of paws and ducklike inflections of tone. As for the Physician, he was an Ex-Quack of our own kind, just called in from the ponda sort of Man-Drake, and formerly a brother by nature, as now by name, of the author of "Winter Nights."

ANACREONTIC.

BY A FOOTMAN.

It's wery well to talk in praise
Of Tea and Water-drinking ways,
In proper time and place;

Of sober draughts, so clear and cool,
Dipp'd out of a transparent pool
Reflecting heaven's face.

Of babbling brooks, and purling rills,
And streams as gushes from the hills.
It's wery well to talk ;-

But what becomes of all sich schemes,
With ponds of ice, and running streams,
As doesn't even walk.

When Winter comes with piercing cold, And all the rivers, new or old,

Is frozen far and wide;

And limpid springs is solid stuff,
And crystal pools is hard enough
To skate upon, and slide ;-

What then are thirsty men to do,
But drink of ale, and porter too,
Champagne as makes a fizz;
Port, sherry, or the rhenish sort,
And p'rhaps a drop of summut short—
The water-pipes is friz!

TIE CAPTAIN'S COW.

A NAUTICAL ROMANCE.

"Water, water, everywhere,

But not a drop to drink."-COLERIDGE.

It is a jolly Mariner

As ever knew the billows' stir,
Or battled with the gale;

His face is brown, his hair is black,

And down his broad gigantic back
There hangs a platted tail.

In clusters, as he rolls along,
His tarry mates around him throng,
Who know his budget well;
Betwixt Canton and Trinidad
No Sea-Romancer ever had
Such wondrous tales to tell!

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