Which step conciliates all and some, stops cavil in

a trice :

"The humble holy heart that holds of new-born pride no spice!

He's just the saint to choose for Pope!' Each adds, 'Tis my advice.'

So Pope he was: and when we flocked-its sacred slipper on

To kiss his foot, we lifted eyes, alack the thing was gone

That guarantee of lowlihead,-eclipsed that star which shone !

Each eyed his fellow, one and all kept silence. I cried, Pish!'.

I'll make me spokesman for the rest, express the common wish.

'Why, Father, is the net removed?' 'Son, it hath caught the fish.'

Robert Browning.

THE MASSACRE OF THE
MACPHERSON1

From the Gallic.

FHAIRSHON Swore a feud

Against the clan M'Tavish;
Marched into their land

To murder and to rafish ;

1 The Bon Gaultier' ballads were written by the late Professor Aytoun and Sir Theodore Martin, who informs the Editor that his collaborator was responsible for The Massacre of the Macpherson.'

For he did resolve

To extirpate the vipers,
With four-and-twenty men
And five-and-thirty pipers.

But when he had gone
Half-way down Strath Canaan,
Of his fighting tail

Just three were remainin'.

All the rest had gone

Off, to drive ta cattle.

'Fery coot!' cried Fhairshon,

6

So my clan disgraced is;

Lads, we'll need to fight

Pefore we touch the peasties." Here's Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh Coming wi' his fassals, Gillies seventy-three

And sixty Dhuinéwassails!'

'Coot tay to you, sir;

Are you not ta Fhairshon ?
Was you coming here
To fisit any person?
You are a plackguard, sir!
It is now six hundred

Coot long years and more,

Since my glen was plundered.'

Fat is tat you say?

Dare you cock your peaver?

I will teach you, sir,

Fat is coot pehaviour!

You shall not exist

For another day more; I will shoot you, sir,

Or stap you with my claymore!'

'I am fery glad

To learn what you mention,
Since I can prevent

Any such intention.’
So Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh
Gave some war-like howls,
Trew his skhian-dhu,
An' stuck it in his powels.

In this fery way

Tied ta valiant Fhairshon,
Who was always thought
A superior person.
Fhairshon had a son

Who married Noah's daughter,
And nearly spoiled ta Flood,
By trinking up ta water.

Which he would have done,
I at least pelieve it,
Had ta mixture peen
Only half Glenlivet.
This is all my tale :

Sirs, I hope 'tis new t'ye!
Here's your fery good healths,
And tamn ta whusky duty!

Aytoun-Martin.

ROTTEN ROW

I HOPE I'm fond of much that's good,
As well as much that's gay;
I'd like the country if I could;
I love the Park in May:
And when I ride in Rotten Row,
I wonder why they call'd it so.

A lively scene on turf and road;
The crowd is bravely drest:
The Ladies' Mile has overflow'd,
The chairs are in request:
The nimble air, so soft, so clear,
Can hardly stir a ringlet here.

I'll halt beneath those pleasant trees,
And drop my bridle-rein,
And, quite alone, indulge at ease
The philosophic vein :

I'll moralize on all I see

Yes, it was all arranged for me!

Forsooth, and on a livelier spot
The sunbeam never shines.
Fair ladies here can talk and trot
With statesmen and divines;
Could I have chosen, I'd have been
A Duke, a Beauty, or a Dean.

What grooms! what gallant gentlemen!
What well-appointed hacks!

What glory in their pace, and then
What Beauty on their backs!

H

My Pegasus would never flag
If weighted as my Lady's nag.

But where is now the courtly troop
That once rode laughing by?
I miss the curls of Cantilupe,
The laugh of Lady Di:

They all could laugh from night to morn,
And Time has laugh'd them all to scorn.

I then could frolic in the van
With dukes and dandy earls;
Then I was thought a nice young man
By rather nice young girls!

I've half a mind to join Miss Browne,
And try one canter up and down.

Ah, no-I'll linger here awhile,
And dream of days of yore;
For me bright eyes have lost the smile,
The sunny smile they wore :-

Perhaps they say, what I'll allow,
That I'm not quite so handsome now.

Frederick Locker.

TEMPORA MUTANTUR!

YES, here, once more a traveller,
I find the Angel Inn,
Where landlord, maids, and serving-men
Receive me with a grin:

Surely they can't remember Me,

My hair is grey and scanter;