But while Stagman was thus gibing Littlefaith for throwing away his wares, suddenly Scapegrace uttered a cry, and said-- "Mercy on us, what hath become of Mr Premium! I only turned my head for a moment to look at yonder Prospectus of the Grand Equatorial and Tropical Junction, and, lo! he slips his arm from mine, and I saw him no more." "Oh, woe is me!" cried Stagman; "what I foretold has come to pass, and now I fear a worse thing will yet befall us." And, as he spake, behold there drew near a lean and ill-favoured person, clad in ragged and sad-coloured attire, whose doublet was much out at the elbows, and who looked ever towards the ground; and no sooner did Stagman see him drawing nigh, than he threw his scrip on the ground, and, hurrying through the crowd, he was seen no more. Then I knew that the man's name was DISCOUNT. And when the men of the Fair saw that Premium was gone, and that Stagman had fled as Discount drew nigh, they seized upon Scapegrace, and began to flout him, at first with fair words and pretences, but at last more rudely and openly. "So, friend!" cried one, "you will buy nothing of us, it seems? Mayhap you have something to sell." "I have in my scrip a few Eldorados, for which I expected a premium," answered Scapegrace. "Don't you wish you may get it?" said the other sympathetically. "Does your mother," said a third, with a look of sympathy--"your venerable mother, know that you are abroad at the Fair?" "Perfectly well," answered Scapegrace; "it was mainly in consequence of her pecuniary distress that I came hither." "Distress, indeed!" answered the other; "thou wouldst not have us believe that she has sold her mangle yet?" "I said not that she had," replied Scapegrace; "but she would gladly have parted with it if she could." "How are you off for soap?" said another in a compassionate tone. "Very indifferently, friend," answered Scapegrace; "for my lodging has been but poorly supplied of late, and I think of changing it." "Lodging, quotha! You shan't lodge here, Mr Ferguson, I promise you." "My name is not Ferguson," said Scapegrace meekly; "neither have I the least intention of lodging here." "What a shocking bad hat!" cried a voice from behind, and in a trice was Scapegrace's hat knocked over his eyes, and his pockets turned inside out; but finding nothing therein but scrip, they were enraged, and falling upon Scapegrace, they kicked, and cuffed, and hustled him up one row and down another, through this alley and across that court, till at last, being tired of mocking him, they cast him out of the Fair altogether, and shut the gate against him. THE ILIAD OF HOMER--BOOK THE FIRST. IN ENGLISH HEXAMETERS. [The author of the version of the Last Book of the _Iliad_, in the Number for March, has been requested by the editor of this Magazine to give another specimen; and, as he happens to have the First Book completed, he is happy to comply.