Poor Marius! the auctioneer,
Who glibly spoke as he was bidden
To keep his client's credit clear,
Revealed the truth he should have hidden.

" Observe," said he " this favoured spot"
The land well tilled, the outlook pretty,
In short an eligible lot
Conveniently near the city.

" Pray, gentlemen, do not suppose"
The sale is forced — that's not suggested;
The owner not a penny owes,
Nay, he has money well invested.

" Does some one ask what makes him sell?
Mere fancy that it is not healthy;
He's lost slaves, cattle, crops — and well,
You know the whims that move the wealthy."

I hear that no one cared to buy —
Since none was loser by profession —
And Marius still wonders why
The land remains in his possession.