whole surface of the deal box. This took me the whole evening, and I then retired to bed, with an anxious wish to ascertain the result of my invention. Morning came. It was 10 o'clock. I heard a single knock. A minute more, and a strange indescribable noise, something between a scuffle and a scratch, accompanied by an audible

greeted my ears. I jumped out of bed, and listened attentively; various mutterings and whisperings were heard, and then all was still.

I cautiously opened the door, and nothing was visible upon the deal chest but the tail of a shirt, fixed firmly upon one of the nails! The case was clear; the first Dun had come up out of breath, panting, puffing, and blowing, as usual; he had given his usual knock, and then, without perceiving my ingenious operation, had instinctively sate down upon his old familiar resting-place. One of the nails had caught his "sitting-part," an awful scratch and tear had ensued, and the Dun fled, like Joseph from Potiphar's wife, leaving his shirt, or at least part of it, behind. Rushing down stairs, he had encountered the other Duns coming up; he had told them of his accident, showed them his tailless garment, and, struck with a simultaneous terror, they had all departed, and left me "alone in my glory." I was not dunned any more for-a week. Years have fled since that eventful day. Dun has succeeded Dun as hour has succeeded hour, but never shall I forget the ecstasy of that triumph;

and the tail of that shirt is still suspended over my chimney-piece, as a glorious trophy of the "days gone by!"

I will conclude this long, but I hope interesting, chapter by a few verses, which the Detrimental-if he have any taste for poetrymay commit to heart.

THE WAFERED LETTER.

A Ballad.

BY A YOUNGER SON.

A letter, say you, little maid?

Who can the writer be?

For seldom any one but Dun

Or lawyer writes to me.
Just so it is a tradesman's hand;

In yonder basket fling

(My refuge for the destitute)

That horrid wafered thing!

"Tis sweet to have a letter from

The lady whom one loves;
A scented letter, neatly sealed
With Cupids or with doves;
But bills, not billets-doux, the post
To me doth ever bring-

Oh! throw into yon basket, then,
That horrid wafered thing!

"Tis sweet to have a kind note from
Some friend that far doth roam,
Or one, with fifty pounds enclosed,
From "Governor" at home;
I'm poor, so have no friends-my dad
Ne'er draws his purse's string;

Oh! throw into the basket, then,
That horrid wafered thing!

'Tis sweet to hear the postman's knock, And read a letter, which

Proclaims some wealthy aunt hath gone
To heaven, and left you rich.

I've no such luck-my aunts are tough;
Their souls will not take wing-
Oh! throw into yon basket, then,
That horrid wafered thing!

Love, friends, and wealth, are blessed boons

Vouchsafed not to my fate

And yet, though poor and friendless, I

Feel sure I'm loved by Kate.
But I must think of dunning knocks,
And not of wedding rings-
Oh! throw it in yon basket, with
The other wafered things!

Oh! throw it in yon basket, pray—
'T will not be lonely there;
'T will find at least a hundred more,
With just its shape and air.
Oh! throw it in yon basket, then,

Its sight my bosom stings—
And let it lie in quiet, with
The other wafered things!

F