village, he found a nice piece at the poet's house, his carnivorous
proclivities induced him to steal it, and, with it under his arm,
hurried off to the nearest barn, and there rapidly devoured it. This
only seemed to give him an appetite. He went foraging again, but this
time only picked up a mutton-bone. "The nearer the bone, the sweeter the
meat," cried TAFFY, and with a flourish he hastened to his hiding place,
while the poor poet, disconsolate in his first loss, returned home only
to find a second; and the culprit was still free.

Ah! my kind reader, here was a deep cut to our poet. "Who would care for
mother now?" he sang, for all the meat was gone. Home was no longer the
dearest spot on earth to him, since it was rudely desecrated by the
hands of TAFFY--of DAVID, the Welshman.

Poor poet! Cruel TAFFY!

Let me draw the curtain of popular sympathy over the unhappy household.
The poet has told his story in words which will never die; and he has
proclaimed the infamy of TAFFY to the uttermost corners of the earth.

* * * * *

Sweeping Reform.

The world moves. There is a chiropodist now travelling in the East who
removes excrescences of the feet simply by sweeping them away with a
corn broom. When last heard of he was at Alexandria, and there is no
corn in Egypt, now.

* * * * *