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brought in a verdict of not guilty (as per placard), the sheriff walked up to him. and loosed his bonds. Now this is wrong, although effective. Prisoners are never subjected to bonds when on trial, unless they are violent, or rescue or escape is threatened. None of these conditions existed in the instance in ques tion. Mr. Bellerophon, or whatever his name may be, should have the bonds removed when the unfor tunate but innocent defendant is placed in the dock, if he wishes to have his show beyond legal criticism. We observed too that there were but six jury-horses; but we make no point ofthat, as the prisoner did not complain of it. It did not appear what the charge was, — probably horse-stealing. We wonder what horses think of men anyway! Perhaps Landseer and Rosa Bonheur could tell; and Swift has essayed to tell, in his savage satire of the Houyhnhnms.

INSOMNIA. — A medical gentleman of Chicago some years ago published a little book entitled " The Insomnia of Shakespeare,'' in which he essayed to prove, from the dramatist's own works, that he was in the habit of lying awake o' nights. The essay was a transparent and very clever jest; but greatly to his delight it was taken for serious by many readers and reviewers, and treated by them with slight respect. Probably most lawyers have been at some time victims of this vexatious inability to sleep. A friend of ours once satirically remarked that he knew noth ing about this, but he did know that lawyers are in the habit of lying awake in the daytime. At one period we suffered from the former — never from the latter — habit, and in one of these attacks we tried to kill the tedious hours by writing some verses, which we turned up the other day in some researches. We give them below. Our readers will appreciate our self-denial in printing them in this department rather than in turning them over to the Editor, who gladly gives us between five and fifty dollars for any poem we can bring ourselves to write for him.

NIGHT NOISES. SOME poet says the night is " stilly," — An utterance supremely silly, For any one who lies awake Can swear that nightly noises shake The nerves far more than those by day, In spite of all that poets say. And there 's a great variety, Not due to inebriety, Nor to imagination's power. Hut to the silence of the hour, Enabling us to clearly hear 'em, And having hear<! we learn to fear 'em. The wind sings through the tight-stretched wires Like moan of ghostly unpaid choirs;

The wedge-defying windows rattle Like crash of musketry in battle; A doctor's dog while yet 't is dark Deals forth his tonic whine and bark; A rooster calls his hens to sup, — 'T is but a ruse to get them up; A nightmare stabled by a neighbor Stamps loud as if at treadmill labor; The noisome cats upon the wall, Like babes in need of catnip, squall; The furniture all creaks and snaps Like volleys of percussion caps; My secretary makes report Like monster cannon in a fort; The picture-frames all start and crack As if their joints were on the rack. I hear a burglar on the stairs, — He 's coining for my choicest wares; His spirits will not be elated When he finds out my silver's plated; On his sin-blasted pate I 'd breathe a Choice blessing if he 'd give me ether. The water in the bath-room drops, And I must count it till it stops, Or plucking courage up, with jaw set, Creep in and tighten up the faucet. A mouse is nibbling in the closet Where I my manuscripts deposit; I 'll have revenge both sure and quick, — My poetry will make him sick. The clock strikes one. but I can't guess Whether it's one or half hour less, And so with eyes wide open lie Till thirty minutes saunter by, And then the clock strikes one once more. But then my torment is not o'er, For possibly this means half-past, So I mijst watch until at last It strikes one stroke again, and now I ought to sleep, but still somehow, To certify it struck one thrice I wake until ¡t strikes one twice; It 's surely two, — I count the chimes, Sit up in bed, and write these rhymes

STAGE LAW. — We have not seen the play of "Giles Corey, Yeoman; " but if it is correctly de scribed in some of the newspapers, it makes sad havoc of legal notions. It is said that the hero was "condemned to be pressed to death." Giles Corey, it will be remembered, was the Salem man accused of witchcraft, who, because he would not plead to the charge, was pressed to death. He was not con demned to be pressed to death. He was not con demned to death at all, but met his death because he resisted the efforts of the public authorities to squeeze a plea out of him. The law was not so inhuman, even in those cruel times, as to condemn a malefactor to death by such a barbarous process. The witches, being accused, were gently and tenderly choked to