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Who always runs in my head whenever
I hear the praise of the juste Milieu,

So cunning and sharp and wise and clever,
That the Yankee Banker starts to view
As the beau ideal of the juste Milieu.
A dollar note to his shop was brought,
And the Banker look'd absorb'd in thought.
"Is it good or bad ?" the inquirer said :--
The Baltimore Banker shook his head,

As in difficult matters Doctors do.
* Why-bad or good-is hard to say
I guess---your dollar note---in its way,
Is what you may call--a middling one."
You may think 'tis false--you may think 'tis fun,
But I give you my honor the tale is true,
And the moral I leave to the juste Milieu.

THE PHILOSOPHER'S DOMICILE.-ANON.

My dwelling is ample,

And I've set an example For lovers of water to follow ;

If my home you should ask,

I have drained out a 'cask,
And I dwell in a cooling hollow !
A disciple am I of Diogenes-
O! his tub a most classical lodging is !
'Tis a beautiful alcove for thinking;
'Tis besides a cool alcove for drinking :

Moreover, the parish throughout
You can readily roll it about.

O! the birth

For a lover of mirth
To revel in jokes and to lodge in ease,
Is the classical tub of Diogenes !

In politics I'm no adept,

And into my tub when I've crept
They may canvass in vain for my vote.
For besides, after all the great cry and hubbub,
Reform gave no ten-pound franchise to my tub;
So
your

bill I don't value a groat!
And if that base idol of filth and vulgarity,
Adorned now-a-days, yelept Popularity,

Should come

To my home,
And my hogshead's bright aperture darken,
Think not to such summons I'd hearken.
No! I'd say to that Ghoul grim and gaunt,

Vile phantom avaunt!

Get thee out of my sight!
For thy clumsy opacity shuts out the light

Of the gay glorious sun

From my classical tun,
Where a hater of cant and a lover of fun
Fain would revel in mirth, and would lodge in ease-

The classical tub of Diogenes !

A COUNT CORNERED.-J. K. PAULDING.

COUNT STROMBOLI, NED AND TOM MATHEWS AND WELCOME

HERE DIX.

An Obscure Lane.-Morning.

(Enter NED and Tom MATHEWs.) Ned. Somewhere about this spot, Tom, the Count always disappears in a very mysterious manner. I never have been able to trace him beyond the entrance to this narrow dirty lane, yet am I satisfied that he burrows near here.

Tom. Burrows? You think then his lodgings are subterraneous, eh-a sort of rabbit warren? Now my idea was that he was more of a bird, and built his nest high up in the air.

Ned. There's no telling-Hist! there he is. Quickstand behind this pump.

(They conceal themselves The Count opens the door

of a house, and looks cautiously out.) Count. I believe I may venture—there don't appear to be anybody in sight. (Footsteps are heard and Count draws back.

Ned. Guy, he's as careful as a city mosquito in the autumn. Count. All clear nowhere goes !

(Count comes out and walks towards Ned and Tom. Ned. Ah, Count, good morning : you're stirring early in these out-of-the-way parts.

Count. (aside.) Diablé! Discovered! I'll brazen it out. (Aloud.) Yes, gentlemen, I like to take a walk before breakfast sometimes, and, as I said the other day, I have a fancy for looking into the obscure parts of a city. You can then form a judgment of its morals.

Ned. And what conclusion have you come to, Count, as to the state of our well-regulated city of Boston ?

Count. I've seen better places, with worse reputations. (WELCOME-HERE Dıx comes to the door of his house, and calls.

Dix. Hallo, you there, you Jovanny Vaganty, or what's your tarnal queer name? come here a minute.

(Count begins to move off. Ned. And do you enter strange houses, Count, to study morals?

Dix. Here, you Jovanny-Jovanny Vaganty, darn yer, can't yer hear, or won't you hear ? Are

you deef ? Count. 'Pon my soul, gentlemen-(looks at his watch) my omelette will be cold, if I wait here any longer. I ordered my breakfast at half past nine.

(Excit Count. Ned. The Count seems to be in a hurry. Let's try if we can obtain any information from his landlord. (Addresses Dix.) Do you know that gentleman that just turned the corner ?

Dix. Wa-a-1, I should kind o' calkulate that I did, shouldn't you?

Ned. Does he live at your house?
Dix. You think he does, now, don't you ?
Ned. I do; but I should like to know more certainly.
Dix. Now, mister, do you know Jovanny?

Ned. Never you mind. Here—(gives him money)—will that open your mouth?

Dix. Only jest try, won't you?

Ned. Do you know where that gentleman lives? Speak plainly, man.

Dix. Wa-a-l, I shouldn't wonder if I could make a pretty considerable of a sharp guess where he does put up. I have a mighty strong kind of a notion that he's nigh about the hardest man goin' in Bosting to screw money out of. Why, mister, you might jest as well try to make cider out of dried apples.

Ned. What! the Count?

Dix. Man alive! du tell nëow! Cëount! Why, I did cultivate a kind o' suspicion that he played in the orchestry at the Circus. He's jest that sort o' lookin' chap. Cëount, eh? No you don't, mister! You think I'm a green chicken, don't

yer?

1

Ned. His name is certainly Count Stromboli.

Dix. You don't fool this child, mister. Get ëout. Cëount, eh? Hain't I seen the Marquis Lafayetty? He don't look nothin' like him, I guess.

Ned. What do you call him, then?
Dix. His name is Jovanny Vaganty—that's the talk.

Ned. Giovanni Vagante-how many aliases has he, I wonder ?

Dix. Aliases! If he has aliases, I guess I'll turn him straight out o' doors. Pisenous troublesome things is them aliases-gets a man into law-always. Ned. And he doesn't

eh? Dix. Wa-a-1, I shouldn't be surprised if he had a tarnation tight fist-desp’rate cluss is Jovanny. He's been here most six weeks, and I han't seen no signs of his money the wbull time. You understand, he keeps a promisin', and a promisin', and a promisin', but his pockets is painful empty; and I want say but what he owes old Sambo, the colored man, a whull grist o' fourpences for blackin' his boots, runnin' of aru'ds, and sich like small chores.

pay,

Ned. And you 're sure that's he that we met out here?

Dix. You wouldn't want me to take my Bible oath on it, would

you, mister? If you don't, I kind o' notion that that ere feller was Jovanny Vaganty, and nobody else, or my name isn't Welcome-here Dix.

Ned. Well, Mr. Dix, I am much obliged to you. Good morning, sir.

(Exeunt NED and Tom MATHEWS. Dix. Shockin' purlite! Wa-a-l, nëow, I jest wonder what them twu smart young sparks want o' Jovanny ? (Lays his finger on his nose.) I shouldn't be surprised if I smelt something tarnation strong. I'll make Jovanny pay up, as sure as blazes.

(Dix re-enters his house, and finds the Count alone in

his room. Count. Landlord, who asked you in?

Dix. Well, I du suppose I jest asked myself in. You see, Jovanny, you've been going now on tick for six weeks, and I kind o conceit I should like to see the color of your money, jest out o' curiosity-nothin' else, you know. Here's the bill. (Presents Count a bill.)

Count. Very well, Dix, very well-I'll attend to it. Just leave it on the table there, will you

? Dix. That game won't do no longer, Jovanny. You see, you've worked me through that mill a whull grist o' times already. I've left three bills for you on that table, and that's twice more than I ever did for anybody else.

Count. Well, just step in again in half an hour, will you, Dix? I am very busy at present. Dix. Won't

Won't pass, that. By Gum, Jovanny, I don't stir a peg from this spot, I've a notion, till I've pocketed the money.

Count. Insolence! Peste! I vill leaf de house.

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