* Tarlton was a poet. “Tarlton's Toys” (see Thomas Nash's “Terrors of the Night,” 4to. 1594,) had appeared in 1586. He had some share in the extemporal play of “The Seven Deadly Sins.” In 1578, John Allde had a licence to publish “Tarlton's device upon this unlooked-for great snowe.” In 1570, the same John Allde “at the long shop adjoyning unto Saint Mildred's Church in the Pultrye,” published “A very Lamentable and Wofull Discours of the Fierce Fluds, which lately Flowed in Bedford Shire, in Lincoln Shire, and in many other Places, with the Great Losses of Sheep and other Cattel, the 5th of October, 1570.” We are in possession of an unique black-letter ballad, written by Tarlto. It has a woodcut of a lady dressed in the full court costume of the time, holding in her right hand a fan of feathers. “A prettie newe Ballad, intytuled: The crowe sits upon the wall, Please one and please all. To the tune of, 'Please one and please all.' Imprinted at London for Henry Kyrkham, dwelling at the little North doore of Paules, at. the Sygne of the blacke Boys.” Tarlton's wife, Kate, was a shrew; and, if his own epigram be sooth, a quean into the bargain. “Woe to thee, Tarjton, that ever thou were born, Thy wife hath made thee a cuckold, and thou must wear the horn: What, and if she hath? Am I a whit the worse? She keeps me like a gentleman, with money in my purse.” He was not always so enduring and complaisant: for on one occasion, in a storm, he proposed, to lighten the vessel by throwing his lady overboard! Thy calling, vagrant though it be, shall not stand in the way of a good toast. What say you, my friends, to a loving cup with the harper, to Dick Tarlton, and Merrie England? The cup went round; and as the harper brushed his lips after the spicy draught, so did his right mustachio! Uncle Timothy did not notice this peculiarity. “Might I once more presume, my noble masters,” said the harper. “I would humbly----” “Thou art Lord of Misrule for to-night,” replied Uncle Timothy. “Go on presuming.” “The memory of the immortal Twenty-nine, and their patron, Holy Saint Thomas of Canterbury!” And the minstrel bowed his head reverently, crossed his hands over his breast, and rising to his harp, struck a chord that made every bosom thrill again. “Thy touch hath a finish, and thy voice a harmony that betoken cultivation and science.” As the middle-aged gentleman made this observation, the mustachio that had taken a downward curve, fell to the ground; its companion, (some conjuror's heir-loom,) played at follow my leader; and the solitary imperial was left alone in its glory. The harper, to hide his confusion, hummed Lo-doiska. Uncle Timothy, espying the phenomenon, fixed his wondering eyes full in the strange man's face, and exclaimed, “Who, and what art thou?”