Sorrowing, they proceed, and returning, find their son hanging by the neck alive, and singing psalms—­in no actual pain—­but naturally desirous to be freed from his extraordinary state of suspended animation.  They repair to the chief magistrate of the town, by whose authority the youth was executed—­find his worship at dinner—­relate the wonderful preservation of their son—­and request that he may be restored.  The magistrate is incredulous, and declares that he would sooner believe that the fowls on which he was dining would rise again in full feather.  The miracle is performed.  The cock and hen spring from the ocean of their own gravy, clacking and crowing, with all appurtenances of spur, comb, and feather.  Pierre, of course, is liberated, and declared innocent.  The cock and hen become objects of veneration—­live in a state of chastity—­and are finally translated—­leaving just two eggs, from which arise another immaculate cock and hen.  The breed is perhaps still in existence, and time hath been, that a lucrative trade was carried on in their feathers!!!—­Ibid..

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THE GATHERER.

  A snapper up of unconsidered trifles. 
  SHAKSPEARE.

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Of Hogarth’s first attempt at satire, the following story is related by Nichols, who had it from one of Hogarth’s fellow workmen.  “One summer Sunday, during his apprenticeship, he went with three companions to Highgate, and the weather being warm and the way dusty, they went into a public house, and called for ale.  There happened to be other customers in the house, who to free drinking added fierce talking, and a quarrel ensued.  One of them on receiving a blow with the bottom of a quart pot, looked so ludicrously rueful, that Hogarth snatched out a pencil and sketched him as he stood.  It was very like and very laughable, and contributed to the restoration of order and good humour.”

* * * * *

THE “GOOD BOY” LOVER.

“When I was a lad,” said a facetious gentleman to the recorder of the anecdote, “I was, or rather fancied myself to be, desperately in love with a very charming young lady.  Dining at her parents’ house one day, I was unfortunately helped to the gizzard of a chicken, attached to one of the wings.  Aware, like most ‘good boys’ that it was extremely ungenteel to leave anything upon my plate, and being over anxious to act with etiquette and circumspection in this interesting circle, I, as a ‘good boy’ wished strictly to conform myself to the rules of good breeding.  But the gizzard of a fowl!  Alas! it was impossible! how unfortunate!  I abhorred it!  No, I could not either for love or money have swallowed such a thing!  So, after blushing, playing with the annoyance, and casting many a side-long glance to see if I was observed,