THIS twelvemonth at the grindstone I have ground, Toiling to meet the toll of profiteers, And now comes AUSTEN, budgeting around, "Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears" (MILTON), and leaves me naked as a poodle, Shorn--to the buff--of my laborious boodle. I own it irks me little when he goes For fancy weeds and wine of fizzy brands; But I protest at parting through the nose For what the meanest human life demands; Nothing is sacred from his monstrous paw, Not letters, no, nor even usquebaugh. That beverage, which invites to balmy sleep (Guerdon of toil), is on the upward ramp; My harmless doggerel--in itself so cheap-- Despatched by post will want a larger stamp; Nor have I any wives or children to Abate the mulcting of my revenue. But if you tell me I am asked to bleed For England; if, by being rudely tapped, My modest increment may help at need To spare some Office which would else be scrapped; If my poor fleece of wool by heavy cropping Can save the Civil Estimates from dropping;-- If I can keep in comfortable ease But one superfluous Staff for one week's play; If from my squalor I may hope to squeeze The wherewithal to check for half a day The untimely razing of a single Hut-- 'Tis well; I will not even murmur "Tut." O. S. * * * * * A TRYING DAY IN MEDIAEVAL TIMES. THE public torturer hurried home in an irritable frame of mind. The day had been for him one long round of annoyances. When he commenced his duties that morning, already exasperated by the thought that if the drought continued the produce of his tiny patch of ground would be completely ruined, he was aggrieved to find that far more than his fair share of a recently arrived batch of heretics had been allotted to him. During the midday break for refreshments his dreamy assistant had allowed the furnace to go out, bringing upon the torturer's own head a severe censure for the consequent delay. In the afternoon, glancing occasionally through the narrow window, he was mortified to see that the promising rain-clouds, which might yet have saved his cabbages, were dispersing; and then, to crown all, just as he was finishing for the day he had caught hold of a pair of pincers a trifle too near the white-hot end and seared his hand.