the room, and coolly took a look about the place. Seeing all quiet, out he came, and ran straight to the box in which were kept the favorite leather strips. In . he dived, and quickly reappeared, carrying in his mouth the most dainty morsel he could find. Off he ran to his hole, and vanished.

Having thus found out the thief, the saddler determined to catch him. He accordingly propped up a sieve with a stick, and put a bait underneath. In a few minutes out came the rat again, smelling the inviting toasted cheese, and forthwith attacked it. The moment he began nibbling at the bait, down came the sieve, and he became a prisoner. "Now," thought he, "my life depends upon my behaviour when this horrid sieve is lifted up by that two-legged monster with the apron. He has a tolerably good-natured face, and I don't think he wants to kill me. I know what to do."

The whipmaker at length lifted up the sieve, being armed with a stick ready to kill Mr Rat. when he rushed out. What was his astonishment on seeing that he remained perfectly still. After a few moments, he walked quietly up the whipmaker's arm, and looked up in his face, as much as to say, "I am a poor innocent rat, and if your wife will lock up all the good things in the cupboard, why, I must eat your nice thongs. Rats must live as well as whipmakers."

The man then said, "Tom, I was going to kill you, but now I won't; let us be friends. I'll give you some bread and butter every day if you will not take my thongs and wax, and leave the shopman's breakfast alone. But I am afraid you will come out once too often there are lots of dogs and cats about who won't be so civil to you."

He then put him down, and Mr. Rat leisurely retired to his hole. For a long time afterwards he found his breakfast regularly placed for him at the mouth of his hole; in return for which he, as in duty bound, became quite tame, running about the shop, and inquisitively turning over everything on the bench at which his pro

tector was at work. He would even accompany him into the stables, when he went to feed the pony; and pick up the corn as it fell from the manger, keeping, however, a respectful distance from the pony's legs. His chief delight was to bask on the warm window-sill, in the mid-day sun.

This comfortable but unfortunate habit proved his destruction, for one very hot day as he lay taking his nap, the dog belonging to the bird-shop opposite spied him afar off and instantly dashed at him through the window. The poor rat, who was asleep at the time, awoke, alas! too late to save his life. The dog caught him, and took him into the road, where a few sharp squeezes and shakings soon finished him.

The fatal deed being done, the murderous dog left his bleeding victim in the dusty road, and, with ears and tail erect, walked away quite proud of his performance.

Buckland.

INCIDENT DURING THE PLAGUE IN LONDON.

John Hayward was at that time under-sexton of the parish of St Stephen, Coleman Street; by under-sexton was understood at that time grave-digger and bearer of the dead. This man carried, or assisted to carry, all the dead to their graves which were buried in that large parish, and who were carried in form; and after that form of burying was stopped, went with the deadcart and the bell, to fetch the dead bodies from the houses where they lay, and fetched many of them out of the chambers and houses; for the parish was, and is, still remarkable, particularly, above all the parishes in London, for a great number of alleys and thoroughfares, very long, into which no carts could come, and where they were obliged to go and fetch the bodies a very long way, which alleys now remain to witness it; such as White's Alley, Cross Keys Court, Swan Alley, Bell Alley, White Horse Alley, and many more. Here they went with a kind of handbarrow, and laid the

dead bodies on, and carried them out to the carts; which work he performed, and never had the distemper at all, but lived about twenty years after it, and was sexton of the parish to the time of his death. His wife at the same time was a nurse to infected people, and tended many that died in the parish, being for her honesty recommended by the parish-officers; yet she never was infected either.

He never used any preservative against the infection other than holding garlic and rue in his mouth, and smoking tobacco; this I also had from his own mouth; and his wife's remedy was washing her head in vinegar, and sprinkling her head-clothes so with vinegar as to keep them always moist; and if the smell of any of those she waited on was more than ordinary offensive, she snuffed vinegar up her nose, and sprinkled vinegar upon her head-clothes, and held a handkerchief wetted with vinegar to her mouth.

It must be confessed, that, though the plague was chiefly among the poor, yet were the poor the most venturous and fearless of it, and went about their employment with a sort of brutal courage. I must call it so, for it was founded neither on religion or prudence; scarce did they use any caution, but run into any business which they could get any employment in, though it was the most hazardous; such was that of tending the sick, watching houses shut up, carrying infected persons to the pest-house, and, which was still worse, carrying the dead away to their graves.

It was under this John Hayward's care, and within his bounds, that the story of the piper, with which much people have made themselves so merry, happened, and he assured me that it was true. It is said that it was a blind piper; but, as John told me, the fellow was not blind, but an ignorant, weak, poor man, and usually went his rounds about ten o'clock at night, and went piping along from door to door, and the people usually took him in at public-houses where they knew him, and would give him drink and victuals, and sometimes farthings; and he in return would pipe and sing,

and talk simply, which diverted the people, and thus he lived. It was but a very bad time for this diversion, while things were as I have told, yet the poor fellow went about as usual, but was almost starved; and when anybody asked how he did, he would answer, the dead-cart had not taken him yet, but that they had promised to call for him next week.

It happened one night that this poor fellow, whether somebody had given him too much drink or no (John Hayward said he had not drink in his house, but that they had given him a little more victuals than ordinary at a public-house in Coleman-Street), and the poor fellow having not usually had a bellyful, or, perhaps, not a good while, was laid all along upon the top of a bulk, or stall, and fast asleep at a door, in the street near London-wall, towards Cripplegate, and that, upon the same bulk or stall, the people of some house, in the alley of which the house was a corner, hearing a bell, which they always rung before the cart came, had laid a body really dead of the plague just by him, thinking too that this poor fellow had been a dead body as the other was, and laid there by some of the neighbours.

Accordingly, when John Hayward with his bell and the cart came along, finding two dead bodies lie upon the stall, they took them up with the instrument they used, and threw them into the cart; and all this while the piper slept soundly.

From hence they passed along, and took in other dead bodies, till, as honest John Hayward told me, they almost buried him alive in the cart, yet all this while he slept soundly; at length the cart came to the place where the bodies were to be thrown into the ground, which, as I do remember, was at Mountmill; and as the cart usually stopt some time before they were ready to shoot out the melancholy load they had in it, as soon as the cart stopped, the fellow awaked, and struggled a little to get his head out from among the dead bodies, when, raising himself up in the cart, he called out, Hey, where am I? This frighted the

fellow that attended about the work, but, after some pause, John Hayward, recovering himself, said, Lord bless us! there's somebody in the cart not quite dead. So another called to him, and said, Who are you? The fellow answered, I am the poor piper: Where am

Where are you? says Hayward; why, you are in the dead-cart, and we are going to bury you. But I an't dead though, am I? says the piper; which made them laugh a little, though, as John said, they were heartily frightened at first: so they helped the poor fellow down, and he went about his business.

I know the story goes, he set up his pipes in the cart, and frighted the bearers and others, so that they ran away; but John Hayward did not tell the story so, nor say anything of his piping at all; but that he was a poor piper, and that he was carried away as above, I am fully satisfied of the truth of.

Defoe.

EXECUTION OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.

Mary passed into the hall, where was erected a scaffold covered with black; and she saw, with an undismayed countenance, the two executioners, and all the preparations of death. The room was crowded with spectators, and no one was so steeled against all sentiments of humanity as not to be moved when he reflected on her royal dignity, considered the surprising train of her misfortunes, beheld her mild but inflexible constancy, recalled her amiable accomplishments, or surveyed her beauty, which, though faded by years, and yet more by her afflictions, still discovered themselves in this fatal moment. Here the warrant for her execution was read to her; and during this ceremony she was silent, but showed, in her behaviour, an indifference, and unconcern, as if the business had nowise regarded her. Before the executioners performed. their office, the Dean of Peterborough stepped forth; and, though the queen frequently told him that he