"A plague take him and his honey-pots, too," said the chambermaid, as she looked at a new pattern on her best gingham.

"It's no matter," said Quickset. "I won't lose it. The house must stand the damage. Mr. Bush, I shall look to you for the money."

"He shall look to you for the money," da-capo'd Thickset. "You may look till doomsday," said the landlord. "It's all your own fault; I thought nobody would steal brooms. If you had told me there was honey, I would have put the waggon under lock and key."

"Why, there was honey," said Quickset and Thickset.

"I don't know that," said Mr. Bush, "you said last night in the kitchen there was nothing but brooms."

"I heard him," said John Ostler; "I'll take my oath to his very words!"

"And so will I," roar'd the chambermaid, glancing at her damaged gown.

"What of that?" said Quickset; "I know I said there was nothing but brooms."

"I know," said Thickset, "I'm positive, he said there was nothing but brooms."

"He confesses it himself," said the landlady.

"And his own man speaks agin him," said the chambermaid. "I saw the waggon come in, and it didn't seem to have any honey in it," said the head waiter.

"May be the flies have eaten it," said the postillion.

"I've seen two chaps the very moral of them two at the bar of the Old Bailey," said Boots.

"It's a swindle, it is," said the landlady, "and Mr. Bush shan't pay a farthing."

"They deserve tossing in a blanket," said the chambermaid. "Duck em in the horsepond," shouted John Ostler.

"I think," whispered Thickset, "they are making themselves up for mischief!"

There was no time to be lost. Quickset again lugged Old Ball and Old Dumpling from the stable, while his companion tossed the brooms into the waggon. As soon as possible they drove out of the unlucky yard, and as they passed under the arch, I heard for the last time the voice of Thickset :

"You've been to London before, and to be sure know best; but somehow, to my mind, the telling the untruth don't seem to answer."

The only reply was a thwack, like the report of a pistol, on the crupper of each of the horses. The poor animals broke directly into something like a canter: and as the waggon turned a corner of the street, I shut down the sash, and resumed my "Illustrations of Lying."

A WATERLOO BALLAD.

To Waterloo, with sad ado,

And many a sigh and groan,
Amongst the dead, came Patty Head,
To look for Peter Stone.

"O prithee tell, good sentinel,
If I shall find him here?
I'm come to weep upon his corse,
My Ninety-Second dear!

"Into our town a serjeant came
With ribands all so fine,
A-flaunting in his cap-alas!
His bow enlisted mine!

"They taught him how to turn his toes, And stand as stiff as starch;

I thought that it was love and May,
But it was love and March!

And soon she picked out Peter Stone,

Half turned into a corse;

A cannon was his bolster, and

His mattress was a horse.

"O Peter Stone, O Peter Stone,

Lord, here has been a skrimmage; What have they done to your poor breast That used to hold my image?"

"O Patty Head, O Patty Head, You're come to my last kissing; Before I'm set in the Gazette

As wounded, dead, and missing!