listens to the cheerless chirrup of the chimney cricket, and the fearful fluttering of a living bat. Within the bottleless bar, where the flap of the landlord's coat was seen, nothing is heard but the flap of the owl's wing. The refreshing squall of unapparelled urchins, masculine and feminine, is succeeded by the melancholy and monotonous cry of the Whippoorwill and Katydid. The rawboned and ravenous rat, runs rioting round the cold, cold kitchen, o'er which the unconscious and uncaring kitten capered, in all the gaiety of fun and fugaciousness. But the bell of the wooden Dutch-clock strikes the midnight hour still; and then strange sights are heard, and stranger sounds are seen; and where the stomach was filled with fried tripe, the soul is filled with fearful tremor. The empty wolf, when the moon is full, then prowls, and growls, and scowls, and howls, in horrible hoarseness, and unearthly voices are colloquializing in the air. In short, the scene is replete with all the qualities of Der Frieschutzism!*

In the year 18—, at the early part of an evening late in August, about the twentyfirst day of that month, a

*Note by the Author. I regret that the inefficiency of our legislation as to literary property, will prevent a prosecution for piracy; but, on comparison, it will be seen that the Author of Der Frieschutz has taken great liberties with the nature, and even names of 'The Demon of the Distillery.'

select, but singularly mysterious party had congregated at 'The Devil's Punch Bowl,' for the purpose apparently of deciding a wager, which had been previously laid, upon the superiority of their qualifications, and preeminency of skill, in the science of ten-pins. The civil code of Skunksburgh contained severe enactments against all proprietors of public amusements; and Patrician committees, with Roman firmness, were selected to put down the wooden Decemviri as soon as they were set up.

It is by gradually diverting, not suddenly impeding the progress of a stream, that we best drain the land of superfluous irrigation. The party had openly played the game of nine-pins in Skunksburgh for mere harmless amusement and wholesome exercisethe voice of vigilance pronounced its anathema— they went to 'The Devil's Punch Bowl,' and secretly gambled for gain! and evaded the law by adding a tenth pin. The group assembled in the ten-pin alley was composed of the following four principal characters. Old Burnhard, the conscientious and corpulent landlord of 'The Devil's Punch Bowl;' Hatoff, a juvenile baker boy, upon whose youthful and benevolent brow sat a simplicity, that enlisted, instantaneously, every affection in his favor. The sweetness of expression upon his lips, was only equalled by the sweetness of his own gingerbread, that went between them. On