And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,
As the Piper turned from the High Street
To where the Weser rolled its waters

Right in the way of their sons and daughters!
However he turned from South to West,
And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,
And after him the children pressed;
Great was the joy in every breast.
"He never can cross that mighty top!
He's forced to let the piping drop,

And we shall see our children stop!"
When, lo, as they reached the mountain's side,

A wondrous portal opened wide,

As if a cavern were suddenly hollowed;

And the Piper advanced and the children followed,

And when all were in to the very last,

The door in the mountain-side shut fast.

Did I say-all? No! one was lame,

And could not dance the whole of the way;

And in after years, if you would blame

His sadness, he was used to say,—

"It's dull in our town since my playmates left; I can't forget that I'm bereft

Of all the pleasant sights they see,

Which the Piper also promised me;

For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,

Joining the town and just at hand,

Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew,
And flowers put forth a fairer hue,

And everything was strange and new;

The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,

And their dog outran our fallow deer,

And honey-bees had lost their stings;

And horses were born with eagle's wings;

And just as I became assured

My lame foot would be speedily cured,
The music stopped, and I stood still,
And found myself outside the Hill,
Left alone against my will,

To go now limping as before,

And never hear of that country more!"

Alas, alas, for Hamelin!

There came into many a burgher's pate A text which says, that Heaven's Gate Opes to the Rich at as easy rate As the needle's eye takes a camel in! The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South, To offer the Piper by word of mouth, Wherever it was men's lot to find him, Silver and gold to his heart's content, If he'd only return the way he went,

And bring the children all behind him. But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour, And Piper and dancers were gone for ever, They made a decree that lawyers never

Should think their records dated duly
If, after the day of the month and year,
These words did not as well appear,

"And so long after what happened here
On the twenty-second of July,
Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:"
And the better in memory to fix
The place of the Children's last retreat,
They called it the Pied Piper's Street-
Where any one playing on pipe or tabor
Was sure for the future to lose his labour.

Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern

To shock with mirth a street so solemn ;
But opposite the place of the cavern

They wrote the story on a column,
And on the great Church Window painted
The same, to make the world acquainted
How their children were stolen away,
And there it stands to this very day.
And I must not omit to say
That in Transylvania there's a tribe
Of alien people that ascribe

The outlandish ways and dress,

On which their neighbours lay such stress,
To their fathers and mothers having risen
Out of some subterraneous prison,
Into which they were trepanned

Long time ago in a mighty band

Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick Land,
But how or why, they don't understand.

So, Willy, let me and you be wipers

Of scores out with all men-especially pipers;

And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise. ROBERT BROWNING.

[By kind permission of the Author.]

NOTHING TO WEAR.

(CONDENSED.)

Miss Flora M'Flimsey, of Madison Square,

Has made three separate journeys to Paris;
And her father assures me, each time she was there,
That she and her friend, Mrs. Harris

(Not the lady whose name is so famous in history,
But plain Mrs. H., without romance or mystery),
Spent six consecutive weeks without stopping,
In one continuous round of shopping;

Shopping alone, and shopping together,

At all hours of the day, and in all sorts of weather;
For all manner of things that a woman can put
On the crown of her head or the sole of her foot,
Or
wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her waist,
Or that can be sewed on, or pinned on, or laced,
Or tied on with a string, or stitched on with a bow,
In front or behind-above or below:

For bonnets, mantillas, capes, collars, and shawls;
Dresses for breakfasts, and dinners, and balls;
Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in;
Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in ;
Dresses in which to do nothing at all;
Dresses for winter, spring, summer, or fall;
All of them different in colour and pattern-
Silk, muslin, and lace, crape, velvet, and satin ;
Brocade, and broadcloth, and other material,
Quite as expensive, and much more ethereal;

In short, for all things that could ever be thought of,
Or milliner, modiste, or tradesman be bought of,

From ten-thousand-francs robes to twenty-sous frills;
In all quarters of Paris, and at every store,

..

While M'Flimsey in vain stormed, scolded, and swore ;
They footed the streets, and he footed the bills.
And yet, though scarce three months have pass'd since the
day

This merchandise went, on twelve carts, up Broadway,
This same Miss M'Flimsey, of Madison Square,

The last time we met, was in utter despair,

Because she had nothing whatever to wear!

NOTHING TO WEAR! Now, as this is a true ditty,
I do not assert-this, you know is between us-
That she's in a state of absolute nudity,

Like Powers' Greek Slave, or the Medici Venus;
But I do mean to say, I have heard her declare,

When, at the same moment, she had on a dress,
Which cost five hundred dollars, and not a cent less,
And jewelry worth ten times more, I should guess,
That she had not a thing in the wide world to wear!
I should mention just here, that out of Miss Flora's
Two hundred and fifty or sixty adorers,

I had just been selected as he who should throw all
The rest in the shade, by the gracious bestowal

On myself, after thirty or twenty rejections,

Of those fossil remains, which she called "her affections,"
And that rather decayed but well-known work of art,
Which Miss Flora persisted in styling "her heart."
So we were engaged. Our troth had been plighted,
Not by moonbeam or starbeam, by fountain or grove,
But in a front parlour, most brilliantly lighted,

Beneath the gas-fixtures we whispered our love,
Without any romance, or raptures, or sighs,
Without any tears in Miss Flora's blue eyes!
Or blushes, or transports, or such silly actions;
It was one of the quietest business transactions,
With a very small sprinkling of sentiment, if any,
And a very large diamond imported by Tiffany.
On her virginal lips while I printed a kiss,
She exclaim'd, as a sort of parenthesis,
And by way of putting me quite at my ease,
"You know I'm to polka as much as I please,

And flirt when I like-now stop, don't you speak—

And you must not come here more than twice in the week,