"Had that defrauded mule, sir," here interposed a stranger, "been born in Ireland a brief while ago, he would have fallen to and devoured the young nigger out of hand, for cheating him of half his grass; that is, he would, if he had ever read the ancient records of that country, and become acquainted with the fact I am about to relate--but stay, perhaps you may relish it better in slip-shod verse." THE TERRIFIC LEGEND OF THE KILKENNY CATS. O'Flyn she was an Irishman, as very well was known, And she lived down by Kilkenny, and she lived there all alone, With only six great large tom-cats as knew their ways about, And ev'ry body else besides she scrup'lously shut out. Oh, very fond o' cats was she--(and whisky too, 'tis said,) She didn't feed 'em very much, but she comb'd 'em well instead; As may be guess'd, these large tom-cats, they didn't get very sleek Upon a combing once a-day, and a "ha'porth" once a-week. Now on one dreary winter's night, O'Flyn she went to bed, The whisky-bottle under her arm, (the whisky in her head,) The six great large tom-cats they sat all in a dismal row, And horridly glared their hungry eyes--their tails wagg'd to and fro At last one grim greymalkin spoke in accents dire to tell, And dreadful were the words which in his awful whisper fell-- When all the other five tom-cats in answer loud did squall, "Let's kill her--and let's eat her--body and bones and all!" Oh horrible! oh terrible! oh deadly tale to tell! When the sun shone in the window-hole all there seem'd still and well; The cats they sat and lick'd their paws, all in a merry ring, _But nothing else within the place looked like a living thing_; Anon they quarrell'd savagely, and spit, and swore, and hollo'd, Till at last these six great large tom-cats they one another swallow'd; And nought but one long tail was left in that once peaceful dwelling, And a very tough one too it was--it's the same as I've been telling. [C. B.] [Illustration: In the Character of Marie Stuart.] MADEMOISELLE RACHEL. Colley Cibber is the best theatrical critic we know, but if he had been asked to describe Rachel, we should fancy him falling into one of his old regrets. 'Could _how_ Rachel spoke be as easily known as _what_ she spoke, then might you see the muse of Racine in her triumph, with all her beauties in their best array, rising into real life and charming her beholders. But, alas! since all this is so far out of the reach of description, how shall I show you Rachel?'