And the master added, “you shall have a piece _on’t_, mister, when it be enough.” I had wondered a hundred times in what book the above passage could be found. At length the discovery was made, and now the concluding portion of the 17th chapter, together with the verses—six of them—have passed through my mind, in the absence of something better, a great many times:— “‘It was within about four days of her (Olivia’s) intended nuptials that my little family, at night, were gathered around a charming fire, telling stories of the past, and laying schemes for the future, busied in forming a thousand projects, and laughing at whatever folly came uppermost.’ ‘Well, Moses, my boy, we shall soon have a wedding in our family; what is your opinion of matters and things in general?’ ‘My opinion is, father, that all things go on very well, and I was just now thinking that when sister Livy is married to Farmer Williams, we shall then have the loan of his cider-press and brewing tubs for nothing.’ ‘That we shall, Moses,’ cried I, ‘and he will sing us ‘_Death_ and the _Lady_’ to raise our spirits into the bargain.’ ‘He has taught that song to our Dick,’ cried Moses, ‘and I think he goes through it very prettily.’ ‘Does he so?’ cried I, ‘then let’s have it. Where is little Dick? Let him up with it boldly.’ ‘My brother Dick,’ cried Bill, my youngest, ‘is just gone out with sister Livy, but Mr. Williams has taught me two songs, and I’ll sing them for you, papa. Which song do you choose, ‘The Dying Swan,’ or ‘The Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog?’ ‘The elegy, child, by all means,’ said I. ‘I never heard that yet, and Deborah, my life, grief you know is dry; let us have a bottle of the best gooseberry wine to keep up our spirits. I have wept so much at all sorts of late that, without an enlivening glass, I am sure this would overcome me, and Sophy, love, take your guitar, and thrum in with the boy a little.” This is then the sample of the taste of a master store the mind of a young scholar; but we must have the “Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog:” THE ELEGY, ETC. Good people all, of every sort, give ear unto my song, And if you find it won’drous short, it cannot hold you long. In Islington there was a man, of whom the world might say That still a godly race he ran whene’er he went to pray. A kind and gentle heart he had, to comfort friend and foe, The naked every day he clad, when he put on his clothes; And in that town a dog was found, as dogs there many be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, and curs of low degree.