* * * * * I do not know that I can find a better place than this to insert a bundle of rhymes which I have at hand. The wholesale slaughter in which the hero and heroine indulge seems to entitle the poem to association with the three coroners above mentioned. And I may venture to remark that not one of the officials in question will read the lines without a feeling of profound regret that such magnificent opportunities for inquests are hardly likely to be presented in Maryland and Delaware. Our New Castle coroner would accumulate millions in the shape of fees if he could have the privilege of summoning juries to investigate such a butchery as this. A HINDOO LEGEND. There was a Hindoo maiden once on India's coral strand Who had some forty suitors for her coffee-colored hand. Her father was a Brahmin of aristocratic caste Who much internal revenue in dry goods had amassed. These lovers thought it would be nice the dusky maid to wed, And spend the rupees lavishly when her papa was dead. But she turned up her nose at them--a very pretty pug-- Because clandestinely she loved an elegant young Thug. This Thug, in his profession, was a very active man; He strangled eighty men the year to practice he began. But as the maiden's father had no taste for art at all, He foolishly disliked the Thug, and wouldn't let him call. And then she loved him better still, as always is the case, And so she met him daily at a certain trysting-place. Hand in hand amid the verdant fields deliciously they strayed, Now culling flowers, now strangling little children as they played. And this young Thug, one afternoon, he kissed the maid and said, "It really seems to me, my dear, high time that we should wed. And as your guardians to me so seriously object, 'Twould be as well to kill them; I can do it, I expect." Then said the lovely maiden, with a sweet, confiding smile: "I go for chopping of them up in most effectual style. And as my marriage simply on my papa's death depends, Why, just for fun we'll butcher all my relatives and friends." The Thug procured a hatchet, and the maiden got a knife; They cut and slashed the Brahmin till he was bereft of life; Then they seized the loving mother, though she desperately fought, And crunched her aged bones beneath the car of Juggernaut. A consecrated lasso, thrown with admirable skill, Swiftly roped her brother in and choked him 'gainst his will. Her sister's fair young form was hooked upon the sacred swing; And flying 'round until she died, she screamed like everything. The maiden jabbed the knife into the colored coachman's brain, And stabbed her uncle William and her aunt Matilda Jane. The Thug he steeped his hatchet in the chambermaiden's gore, And with a skewer pinned the cook against the cellar door.