She had used it for drying

Her bright eyes while crying,

And blowing her nose, as her Beau talk'd of " dying!"

Now the Duke, who had seen it so lately adorn her,
And knew the great C with the Crown in the corner;
The instant he spied it smoked something amiss,
And said with some energy, “ D— it! what's this?"
He went home in a fume,

And bounced into her room,

Crying, "So, Ma'am, I find I've some cause to be jealous; Look here!-here's a proof you run after the fellows! -Now take up that pen,-if it's bad choose a better,— And write, as I dictate, this moment a letter

To Monsieur-you know who!"

The Lady look'd blue;

But replied with much firmness

Hang me if I do!"

De Guise grasped her wrist
With his great bony fist,

And pinch'd it, and gave it so painful a twist,

That his hard, iron gauntlet the flesh went an inch in,— She did not mind death, but she could not stand pinching; So she sat down and wrote

This polite little note:

"Dear Mister St. Megrin,

The Chiefs of the League in
Our house mean to dine

This evening at nine;

I shall, soon after ten,

Slip away from the men,

And you'll find me up stairs in the drawing-room then;

Come

up the back way, or those impudent thieves

Of Servants will see you;

Yours,

CATHERINE OF CLEVES."

She directed and sealed it, all pale as a ghost,
And De Guise put it into the Twopenny Post.

St. Megrin had almost jumped out of his skin
For joy that day when the post came in ;
He read the note through,

Then began it anew,

And thought it almost too good news to be true.—
He clapped on his hat,

And a hood over that,

With a cloak to disguise him, and make him look fat; So great his impatience, from half after four

He was waiting till Ten at De Guise's back-door. When he heard the great clock of St. Genevieve chime He ran up the back staircase six steps at a time;

He had scare made his bow,

He hardly knew how,

When alas! and alack!

There was no getting back,

For the drawing-room door was bang'd to with a whack ;— In vain he applied

To the handle and tried,

Somebody or other had locked it outside!

And the Duchess in agony mourn'd her mishap, “We are caught like a couple of rats in a trap.”

Now the Duchess's Page,

About twelve years of age,

For so little a boy was remarkably sage;

And, just in the nick, to their joy and amazement, Popp'd the Gas-lighter's ladder close under the casement. But all would not do,—

Though St. Megrin got through

The window, below stood De Guise and his crew,

And though never man was more brave than St. Megrin, Yet fighting a score is extremely fatiguing;

He thrust carte and tierce

Uncommonly fierce,

But not Belzebub's self could their cuirasses pierce,

While his doublet and hose,

Being holiday clothes,

Were soon cut through and through from his knees to

his nose.

Still an old crooked sixpence the Conjuror gave him
From pistol and sword was sufficient to save him,
But, when beat on his knees,

That confounded De Guise

Came behind with the "fogle" that caused all this breeze, Whipp'd it tight round his neck, and, when backward he'd jerk'd him,

The rest of the rascals jump'd on him and Burk'd him. The poor little Page too himself got no quarter, but Was served the same way,

And was found the next day

With his heels in the air and his head in the water-butt.

Catherine of Cleves

Roar'd" Murder!" and "Thieves!"

From the window above

While they murder'd her love;

Till, finding the rogues had accomplish'd his slaughter, She drank Prussic acid without any water,

And died like a Duke and a Duchess's daughter!

MORAL.

Take warning, ye Fair, from this tale of the Bard's,
And don't go where fortunes are told on the cards!
But steer clear of Conjurors,- never put query
To" Wise Mrs. Williams," or folks like Ruggieri.

When alone in your room shut the door close, and lock

it;

Above all,- KEEP YOUR HANDKERCHIEF SAFE IN YOUR POCKET!

Lest you too should stumble, and Lord Leveson Gower,

he

Be call'd on,

sad poet!— to tell your sad story!

It was in the summer of 1838 that a party from Tappington reached the metropolis with a view of witnessing the coronation of their youthful Queen, whom God long preserve! — This purpose they were fortunate enough to accomplish by the purchase of a peer's tickets, from a stationer in the Strand, who was enabled so to dispose of some greatly to the indignation of the hereditary Earl Marshal. How Mr. Barney managed to insinuate himself into the Abbey remains a mystery; his characteristic modesty and address doubtless assisted him, for there he unquestionably was. The result of his observations were thus communicated to his associates in the Servant's Hall upon his return, to the infinite delectation of Mademoiselle Pauline, over a Cruiskeen of his own concocting.

289

MR. BARNEY MAGUIRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE CORONATION.

Air "The Groves of Blarney."

ОCH! the Coronation! what celebration
For emulation can with it compare?
When to Westminster the Royal Spinster,

And the Duke of Leinster, all in order did repair! 'Twas there you'd see the New Polishemen

Making a skrimmage at half after four,

And the Lords and Ladies, and the Miss O'Gradys
All standing round before the Abbey door.

Their pillows scorning, that self-same morning
Themselves adorning, all by the candle light,
With roses and lilies, and daffy-down-dillies,

And gould, and jewels, and rich di'monds bright.
And then approaches five hundred coaches,

With Giniral Dullbeak.-Och! 'twas mighty fine

To see how asy bould Corporal Casey,

With his swoord drawn, prancing, made them kape the line.

Then the Guns' alarums, and the King of Arums,
All in his Garters and his Clarence shoes,
Opening the massy doors to the bould Ambassydors,
The Prince of Potboys, and great haythen Jews;