“An attorney offered a friend of mine to discount a bill, if he could obtain a few names to indorse it—­I, Sir, indorsed it.  The bill became due, the next day the attorney arrested all whose names were on the bill; there were eight of us, the law allows him to charge two guineas for each; there are sixteen guineas, Sir, for the lawyer—­but I, Sir—­alas my family will starve before I shall be released.  Sir, there are a set of men called discounting attorneys, who live upon the profits of entrapping and arresting us poor folk.”

“Mine Gott! but is dat justice?”

“Alas!  No, Sir, it is the law of arrest.”

“But,” said the merchant, turning round to a lawyer, whom the Devil had deserted, and who was now with the victims of his profession; “dey tell me, dat in Englant a man be called innoshent till he be proved guilty; but here am I, who, because von carrion of a shailor, who owesh me five hundred pounts, takes an oath that I owe him ten thousand—­here am I, on that schoundrel’s single oath, clapped up in a prishon.  Is this a man’s being innoshent till he is proved guilty, Sare?”

“Sir,” said the lawyer primly, “you are thinking of criminal cases; but if a man be unfortunate enough to get into debt, that is quite a different thing:—­we are harder to poverty than we are to crime!”

“But, mine Gott! is that justice?”

“Justice! pooh! it’s the law of arrest,” said the lawyer, turning on his heel.

Our merchant was liberated; no one appeared to prove the debt.  He flew to a magistrate; he told his case; he implored justice against Captain Jones.

“Captain Jones!” said the magistrate, taking snuff; “Captain Gregory Jones, you mean!”

“Ay, mine goot Sare—­yesh!”

“He set sail for Calcutta yesterday.  He commands the Royal Sally.  He must evidently have sworn this debt against you for the purpose of getting rid of your claim, and silencing your mouth till you could catch him no longer.  He’s a clever fellow is Gregory Jones!”

“De teufel! but, Sure, ish dere no remedy for de poor merchant?”

“Remedy! oh, yes—­indictment for perjury.”

“But vat use is dat?  You say he be gone—­ten thousand miles off—­to Calcutta!”

“That’s certainly against your indictment!”

“And cannot I get my monish?”

“Not as I see.”

“And I have been arreshted instead of him!”

“You have.”

“Sare, I have only von vord to say—­is dat justice?”

“That I can’t say, Mynheer Meyer, but it is certainly the law of arrest,” answered the magistrate; and he bowed the merchant out of the room.

New Monthly Magazine.

* * * * *

SONGS FOUND IN A GRECIAN URN.

THE FIRST-BORN.

  Beautiful, O woman! the sun on flower and tree,
  And beautiful the balmy wind that dreameth on the sea;
  And softly soundeth in thine ear, the song of peasants reaping,
  The dove’s low chant among the leaves, its twilight vigil keeping.