“I think you will have your wish,” said the landlord. “No man of Mr. Finch’s sort would be likely to come among us at such a time.” THE SON OF SORROW. A FABLE FROM THE SWEDISH. All lonely, excluded from Heaven, Sat SORROW one day on the strand; And, mournfully buried in thought, Form’d a figure of clay with her hand. JOVE appeared. “What is this?” he demands; She replied. “’Tis a figure of clay. Show thy pow’r on the work of my hand; Give it life, mighty Father, I pray!” “Let him live!” said the God. “But observe, As I _lend_ him, he mine must remain.” “Not so,” SORROW said, and implor’d, “Oh! let me my offspring retain! “’Tis to me his creation he owes.” “Yes,” said JOVE, “but’twas I gave him breath.” As he spoke, EARTH appears on the scene, And, observing the image, thus saith: “From me—from my bosom he’s torn, I demand, then, what’s taken from me.” “This strife shall be settled,” said JOVE; “Let SATURN decide ’tween the three.” This sentence the Judge gave. “To all He belongs, so let no one complain; The life, JOVE, Thou gav’st him shalt Thou With his soul, when he dies, take again. “Thou, EARTH, shalt receive back his frame, At peace in thy lap he’ll recline; But during his whole troubled life, He shall surely, O SORROW, be thine! “His features thy look shall reflect; Thy sigh shall be mixed with his breath; And he ne’er shall be parted from thee Until he reposes in death!” MORAL. The sentence of Heaven, then is this: And hence Man lies under the sod; Though SORROW possesses him, living, He returns both to EARTH and to GOD. THE APPETITE FOR NEWS.