" Softly ! my rev'rend Sir," the squire replied — 

 " Tray was as good a dog as ever died — 

 No education could his morals mend — 



And what, perhaps, Sir, you may doubt, 



Before his lamp of life went out, 

 He order'd you a legacy, my friend." 



" Did he — poor dog ! " the soften'd priest rejoin'd, 



In accents pitiful and kind ; 



" What ! was it Tray? I'm sorry for poor Tray : 



Why truly, dogs of such rare merit, 



Such real nobleness of spirit, 

 Should not like common dogs be put away. — 



"Well ! pray what was it that he gave, 

 Poor fellow ! ere he sought the grave ? 



I guess I may put confidence, Sir, in ye." 

 " A piece of gold," the gentleman reply'd. 

 " I'm much oblig'd to Tray,'" the Parson cry'd ; 



So left God's cause, and pocketed the guinea. 



Peter Pindar. 



At the Bar <^> ^> ^> ^> -<^> 



(From The Lower World) 



QTAND forth thou champion of a ruffian band, 

 ^ At mercy's bar uplift thy savage hand ; 

 A train of wrong'd Accusers standing nigh, 

 Truth, Justice, Nature, the dire cause shall try : 



94 



