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And the words, " bloody work!" in his ears rang like thunder,
He thought from above, so he fairly knock'd under,

And rose not again ;—and thus died George Hobbs,
The victim of terror, a warning to snobs

Who slaughter God's creatures for holyday fun,
With Old Nick behind them, as sure as a gun.

Now, some hours after, John Meek going round,
Saw the body of Hobbs lying dead on the ground;
Ran to Chew-told the folks-they the coroner-who
Soon summon'd a jury the body to view.

Alas, the poor Robin had no "crowner's 'quest!"
Yes;-who feedeth the ravens that cry from the nest,
Without whom not a sparrow shall fall to the ground,-
He enter'd a verdict, with Hobbs it was found.

The jury were puzzled ;-" The lad's dead, no doubt,"
Said the coroner ;-"how, 'tis your place to find out;
The surgeon, you hear, though he's nigh stripp'd the hide off,
Swears he can't find a hole or a wound that he died of.

"Now, gentlemen jurymen, this cannot be
A case, you perceive, of felo-de-se;

Against that supposition you'll find there's this hitch,
The gun lately found-mark me, found in the ditch!

"For no man has an arm, or so long, or of strength,
To shoot himself dead at a hundred yards' length;
We must therefore conclude-at least I do for one-
That who kill'd this here lad was who fired that there gun.

"Suspicion then falls on the witness, John Meek ;He found-and perhaps he had not far to seekAnd the gun on his premises clearly was found;

And I don't think there's much in there being no wound;

"For a gun-shot's a wound, not like one from a pole, That oft closes again without leaving a hole;

And a bullet may fatally enter one ear,

And escape through the other and never appear."

Now the mother of Hobbs, who in search of her son,
Had heard at Chew-Magna a murder was done,
To Chew-Magna had come; and burst in like a fury,
At the moment the crowner directed his jury.

She there knew her son, and with sighs and with sobs
Declared him the son of his father, one Hobbs,
Shook her fist at poor Meek, where he stands in bad case,
Saying hangdog and gallows were writ in his face!

If this did not satisfy juries, what would?
For this parental instinct was argument good;
So the verdict condemn'd, as the law authorizes,
John Meek to be tried at the ensuing assizes.

But here the bold Magpie, who hearing the din,
And missing John Meek, at the window look'd in,
Now finding it open, flew down on the body,
The moment the crowner was stirring his toddy.

The man stood amazed-'twas so like an appeal

A new inquest, thought he, and 'tis held by the De'il.

And the coroner jump'd from his chair as he heard,

Bloody work, bloody work!" and "you rogue!" from the bird.

So now, while the constable's taking off John,

The parson is putting his surplice on ;

For Hobbs must be buried-and from the church door,
The Magpie hops on, the procession before.

Whereat Hobbs's mother had scream'd, as beseems,

But oft curiosity overcomes screams:

So she stared at the bird, and thought, Heaven forsake her!
If he war'n't all the world like an undertaker.

And in sooth he was like, with his white scarf around him,
So whilst at the grave, she cried "Drat him, confound him!"
He gravely look'd in, and straight open'd his beak

With, "Oh, here's bloody work come again for John Meek!"

Now this was enough to provoke any saint,

Thought the mother of Hobbs, and determined to faint;
And the surgeon of Chew with his lancet is ready,

When Maggie cries out, " Cut her weasand, boy, steady!"

These butcher's directions for killing a sheep,

Pick'd up by the bird, made her take such a leap,

That she knock'd down the surgeon, and terrified flew,

And never again set her foot inside Chew.

We haven't quite done, for we cannot leave Meek
In his prison, with none in his favour to speak ;

What, none! is there none a kind countenance lends?
A poor parish boy has not too many friends.

Yes one-the good butcher has taken a journey,
And has taken the Magpie, and fee'd an attorney;
He has taken the bird, because poor John Meek
Shouldn't want a companion to whom he might speak.*

Alas, the poor boy! we must leave him in jail,
With the Magpie his solace, to hear him bewail;
And the bird catches up all his prayer and defence,
At least all the words, and perhaps half the sense.

And there must we leave him rehearsing his part,
And lest he should forget, Maggie learns it by heart;
And who learns by heart, if not always the wiser,
Will prove in the end on't the better adviser.

'Tis now the Assize-but we spare the digression,
Or else might describe the judicial procession;
Suffice it to say, every limb of the law

Feels the legal delight of protruding his claw.

The jailer of Shepton-Mallet says, that since the silent system has been adopted, no Magpies have been admitted into his prison. This may throw some doubt on the chronology of this poem.-DEVIL.

The judge takes his seat, knits his brows, and looks grim,
Then bows to the sheriff, the sheriff to him;

Reads the calendar-lifts up his eyebrows-" Odds bobs!
What! a murder! One Meek here has murder'd one Hobbs."

But here we must pause-so the charge we omit-
Law is too vast an engine for our small wit;
And justice rides on in her Juggernaut car,
And John Meek now holds up his hand at the bar.

He looks very pale-with one hand in the breast
Of his waistcoat, that Maggie finds snug as a nest;
And now Counsellor Quirk, for the prosecution,
Is making a speech in his best elocution.

Poor Meek is amazed at the crimes put with skill in,
And could not conceive he had been such a villain:
And, his reason confounded, he almost forgot
If he had committed the murder or not.

Then Counsellor Quirk crush'd his brief in his fury,
And, dashing it down, thus concludes to the jury-
"Now this progress of crime you never will check,
If you do not hang up this John Meek by the neck."

At these words the poor boy, where all trembling he stands,
Lifts up to the judge both his eyes and his hands;

And the Magpie, now feeling how loosen'd his cord,
Put his head out, and cried "Not Guilty, my Lord!"

Then towards the jury, with hop and a jump,
He perch'd on the table, first cocking his rump,
As if in disdain, upon Counsellor Quirk,

And utter'd, "Now that's what I call bloody work!"

Then taking new flight, pluck'd the judge by the sleeve,
And perch'd on his cushion, and cried "a reprieve;"
And added, while sideling his lordship to nudge,
"Upon a poor boy, have mercy Lord Judge!"

Just then rush'd the butcher in court with Tom Pitts,
To prove Hobbs's firing the gun and his fits;
But the court, e'en the jury, from roof to the floor-
And the judge scarce refrain'd-were all in one roar.

'Twas "Hurrah for John Meek!" with uproarious accord,
"Hurrah for the Magpie-not guilty, my lord!"
E'en Quirk swore with laughter, while pushing his bag by,
He'd give up his briefs to Counsellor Magpie.

And the good-humour'd judge said, with whimsical stress,
That Mag was a homicide nevertheless,

And a shilling fine to the Queen must be found

So he'd make him a present of twenty pound.*

*This has been doubted-a barrister, who was in court at the time, was questioned upon the point, and replied—" What! L.20 from a lawyer!-incredulos odi."

Then the sheriffs and all the fine folks of the county
Bestow'd upon John their affectionate bounty;
And the ladies waved high their white kerchiefs, a sight
That John thought would lose him his life, for delight.

Thus the boy that was dragg'd to the town in a cart,
In a far better manner was seen to depart;

He return'd in a coach, and the people ran after-
John grinning, Mag chattering, mob roaring with laughter.

The Queen, when she heard what the Magpie had done,
Kindly gave him a pension-but paid it to John:
That pension was praised, and because, we presume,
Of his magpie connexions, not peck'd at by Hume.

And, moreover, the Queen would have Maggie at court;
But his language was not-said a Special Report-
Not always more pure than the water of Thames is,
And therefore not fit for the Court of St James's.

That the good folks at Chew also made an averment,
That Mag. should not quit them for any preferment;
And ask'd the commissioner-ay, to his face-
If there could be at court an unoccupied place?

That the butcher was piqued, for Mag's language, he knew,
Was much on't his own and good English at Chew;
So he roar'd with a tone very noisy and gruff-
"What! hasn't her Majesty magpies enough?"

Thus simple John Meek by his bird was protected
From being hung up by the neck and dissected:
And finding himself set up, new spec and span,
From a butcher's poor 'prentice became " a made man.”

So the parson of Chew, and the squire, and attorney,
Whether going to church, or on speed of a journey,
To a bird of such parts to pay reverence due,
Always take off their hats to the Magpie of Chew.

THE VENTA OF ARMENTIA.

A SKETCH OF THE LATE CARLIST WAR IN SPAIN.

At the foot of a ridge of mountains which intersects the south-eastern corner of the province of Alava, is situated the dirty little town of Peñacerrada. Placed on the top of a small hill or knoll of earth, and tolerably well fortified, it nevertheless changed hands several times during the late civil war, being on the verge of the Christino territory, and bordering on the debatable ground, subject to the incursions and alternate temporary occupation of both parties. This, added to the circumstance of the town being commanded by a rising ground at a short distance, and to the negligence of the Queen's generals in frequently leaving insufficient garrisons or untrustworthy governors, was the cause of its being twice taken by the Carlists, although on both occasions they were allowed to retain their conquest but a brief space, before it was wrested from them by their opponents.

The traveller, who, in happier and less dangerous times than Spain has of late years enjoyed, may have rambled through the Basque provinces, will perchance remember the picturesque road that runs due south from Vittoria to Peñacerrada. If he has passed along it on a thirsty summer's day, he can hardly have forgotten that about midway between the two towns stands a large country inn of somewhat barn-like appearance, but which few travellers pass without draining a cup of the excellent Rioja wine that is found within. The Venta of Armentia,* for such is the name of this roadside hostelry, if it cannot boast of very refined accommodations, has at least the advantage of a situation of perfect beauty. The ground slopes down from the door to the banks of the little. river Aya, which murmurs over its bed of bright yellow sand and divers-coloured pebbles, as it hastens through a grove of mingled sycamore and elm to throw itself into the Zadorra, one of the tributaries of the mighty Ebro. On the right the eye glances through lofty trees over

wide and verdant pastures, interspersed and varied with clumps of wood; the front commands a view of the chain of blue mountains that bounds the horizon. On the left of the house, the road to Peñacerrada passes over a rustic wooden bridge, the ground, for about a mile before and after reaching the venta, rising on the eastern side of the road to the height of twenty or thirty feet, fringed at the top with heath and yellow broom, whilst the brier rose, the honeysuckle, and wild vine, clothe with their tangled festoons the entire side of the acclivity.

These advantages of position had, however, little value in the eyes of Pablo Quintanar, the landlord of the venta, who would gladly have exchanged them for the more substantial benefit of a thriving business, or for immunity from the exactions to which he was daily subjected by Carlists and Christinos. For, being in the neighbourhood of various fortified posts of both parties, the venta was rarely a week without receiving the visit of some detachment of troops or party of guerillas; and the politics of mine host were sufficiently doubtful to furnish both liberals and royalists with a pretext for drinking his wine, ransacking his hen-roost, and emptying his larder, without making that return in lawful coin of the realm to which innkeepers are accustomed to lay claim. Many persons thought it strange that Pablo had never seen fit to make the declaration of his political opinions which would have secured to him protection from one of the two contending parties. He had neither wife nor child, and was moreover somewhat of a philosopher in his way; and although sometimes roused to anger for a moment by the brutality and extortions of an undisciplined soldiery, he soon resumed the sort of sullen apathy and indifference which usually characterized him, and under which he concealed his real feelings. That these feelings were keen, and that his attachment was warm to the

* Venta is the Spanish term for a country inn.

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