in which he was borne to the metropolis as fast as four horses
could carry him, without rest or refreshment. Of course, after a minute
examination, he was declared innocent, and was released; but justice
smiled too late, the bloom of Sighmon's happiness had been prematurely
nipped.

He called in the aid of the first medical advice, grew a little better;
and when the doctor left him he prescribed a medicine which he said he
had no doubt would restore the patient to health. The medicine came,
the bottle was shaken, the contents taken--Sighmon died!

It was afterwards discovered that a mistake had occasioned his premature
departure; a healing liquid had been prescribed for him, but the
careless dispenser of the medicine had dispensed with caution on the
occasion, and Dumps died of a severe _oxalic_ acidity of the
stomach! By his own desire he was interred in the churchyard opposite to
Burying Ground Buildings, Paddington Road. His funeral was conducted
with _almost_ as much decorum as if his late father the mute had
been present, and he was left with--

"At his head a green grass turf,
And at his heels a stone."

But even there he could not rest! The next morning it was discovered
that the body of Sighmon Dumps had been stolen by resurrection
men!--_Sharpe's Mag._

* * * * *

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

* * * * *

MARIA GRAY.--A SONG.

BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD.

Who says that Maria Gray is dead,
And that I in this world can see her never?
Who says she is laid in her cold death-bed,
The prey of the grave and of death for ever?
Ah! they know little of my dear maid,
Or kindness of her spirit's giver!
For every night she is by my side,
By the morning bower, or the moonlight river.

Maria was bonny when she was here,
When flesh and blood was her mortal dwelling;
Her smile was sweet, and her mind was clear,
And her form all human forms excelling.
But O! if they saw Maria now,
With her looks of pathos and of feeling,
They would see a cherub's radiant brow,
To ravish'd mortal eyes unveiling.

The rose is the fairest of earthly flowers--
It is all of beauty and of sweetness--
So my dear maid, in the heavenly bowers,
Excels in beauty and in meetness.
She has kiss'd my cheek, she has komb'd my hair,
And made a breast of heaven my pillow,
And promised her God to