who has furnished our readers with
several specimens of "John Ploughman's Talk," has also published "John
Ploughman's Pictures," some of which we present in pen and ink, without
any help from the engraver. John thus introduces himself:

IF THE CAP FITS, WEAR IT.

Friendly Readers: Last time I made a book I trod on some people's corns
and bunions, and they wrote me angry letters, asking, "Did you mean me?"
This time, to save them the expense of a halfpenny card, I will begin my
book by saying--

Whether I please or whether I tease,
I'll give you my honest mind;
If the cap should fit, pray wear it a bit;
If not, you can leave it behind.

No offense is meant; but if any thing in these pages should come home to
a man, let him not send it next door, but get a coop for his own
chickens. What is the use of reading or hearing for other people? We do
not eat and drink for them: why should we lend them our ears and not our
mouths? Please then, good friend, if you find a hoe on these premises,
weed your own garden with it.

I was speaking with Will Shepherd the other day about our master's old
donkey, and I said, "He is so old and stubborn, he really is not worth
his keep." "No," said Will, "and worse still, he is so vicious that I
feel sure he'll do somebody a mischief one of these days." You know they
say that walls have ears; we were talking rather loud, but we did not
know that there were ears to haystacks. We stared, I tell you, when we
saw Joe Scroggs come from behind the stack, looking as red as a
turkey-cock, and raving like mad. He burst out swearing at Will and me,
like a cat spitting at a dog. His monkey was up and no mistake. He'd let
us know that he was as good a man as either of us, or the two put
together, for the matter of that. Talk about _him_ in that way; he'd
do--I don't know what. I told old Joe we had never thought of him nor
said a word about him, and he might just as well save his breath to cool
his porridge, for nobody meant him any harm. This only made him call me
a liar and roar the louder. My friend Will was walking away, holding his
sides; but when he saw that Scroggs was still in a fume, he laughed
outright, and turned round on him and said, "Why, Joe, we were talking
about master's old donkey, and not about you; but, upon my word, I shall
never see that donkey again without thinking of Joe Scroggs." Joe puffed
and blowed, but perhaps he thought it an awkward job, for he b