through the back entries and yards, the roar of the people still in their ears, till they reached a stair leading to the river, where was a wherry, and two or three guards. The officer stepped in after Inglesant, crying, "Pull away! The Tower!"

then, leaning back, and looking at Inglesant, he said

"You stood that very well. I would rather mount the deadliest breach than face such a sight as that."

GEORGE was buried and gone;

GEORGE the Second was plodding on.

LONDON, then, as the "Guides" aver,
Shared its glories with Westminster;

And people of rank, to correct their tone,
Went out of town to Marybone.

Those were the days of the War with Spain,
PORTO-BELLO would soon be ta'en;
Whitefield preached to the colliers grim,
Bishops in lawn sleeves preached at him;
Walpole talked of "a man and his price;"
Nobody's virtue was over-nice :-

Those, in fine, were the brave days when
Coaches were stopped by Highwaymen !
And of all the knights of the gentle trade
Nobody bolder than "BEAU BROCADE."

This they knew on the whole way down;
Best, maybe, at the "Oak and Crown."

(For timorous folk on their pilgrimage
Would "club" for a "Guard" to ride the stage;
And the Guard that rode on more than one
Was the Host of this hostel's sister's son.)

Open we here on a March-day fine,
Under the oak with the hanging sign.

There was Barber DICK with his basin by;
Cobbler JOE with the patch on his eye;

Portly product of Beef and Beer,
JOHN the host, he was standing near.

Straining and creaking, with wheels awry,
Lumbering came the "Plymouth Fly;"-
Lumbering up from Bagshot Heath,
Guard in the basket armed to the teeth;

Passengers heavily armed inside;

Not the less surely the coach had been tried!
Tried!-but a couple of miles away,
By a well-dressed man!-in the open day!

Tried successfully, never a doubt,
Pockets of passengers all turned out!

Cloak-bags rifled, and cushions ripped,
Even an Ensign's wallet stripped!

Even a Methodist hosier's wife
Offered the choice of her Money or Life!

Highwayman's manners no less polite,
Hoped that their coppers (returned) were
right;-

Sorry to find the company poor,

Hoped next time they'd travel with more ;

Plucked them all at his ease, in short :-
Such was the "Plymouth Fly's" report.

Sympathy! horror! and wonderment!
"Catch the Villain!" (But Nobody went.)
Hosier's wife led into the Bar ;-
That's where the best strong waters are!
Followed the tale of the hundred-and-one
Things that somebody ought to have done.
Ensign (of Bragg's) made a terrible clangour:
But for the ladies had drawn his hanger!

And DOLLY had possibly tidings, too, That made her rise from her bed anew,

Plump as ever, but stern of eye,
With a fixed intention to warn the "Fly."

Lingering only at JOHN his door,
Just to make sure of a jerky snore;

Saddling the grey mare, Dumpling Star; Fetching the pistol out of the bar;

(The old horse-pistol that, they say, Came from the battle of Malplaquet ;)

Loading with powder that maids would use, Even in "Forty," to clear the flues;

And a couple of silver buttons, the Squire Gave her, away in Devonshire.

These she wadded-for want of better-
With the B-sh-p of L-nd-n's "Pastoral
Letter;"

Looked to the flint, and hung the whole, Ready to use, at her pocket-hole.

Thus equipped and accoutred, DOLLY Clattered away to "Exciseman's Folly;"

Such was the name of a ruined abode, Just on the edge of the London road.

Thence she thought she might safely try As soon as she saw it, to warn the "Fly."

But, as chance would have it, her rein she drew,

As the BEAU came cantering into the view.

By the light of the moon she could see him drest

In his famous gold-sprigged tambour vest;

And under his silver-grey surtout, The laced, historical coat of blue,

That he wore when he went to London-Spaw, And robbed Sir MUNGO MUCKLETHRAW.

Out spoke DOLLY the Chambermaid
(Trembling a little, but not afraid),
"Stand and deliver, O'BEAU BROCADE!'"

But the BEAU drew nearer, and would not speak,

For he saw by the moonlight a rosy cheek;

And a spavined mare that was worth a "cole;"

And a girl with her hand at her pocket-hole.

So never a word he spoke as yet,

For he thought 'twas a freak of MEG or BET;

A freak of the "Rose" or the "Rummer" set.

Out spoke DOLLY the Chambermaid, (Tremulous now, and sore afraid,)

"Stand and deliver, O ‘BEAU BROCADE!'”

Firing then, out of sheer alarm,

Hit the BEAU in the bridle-arm.

Button the first went none knows where,
But it carried away his solitaire;

Button the second a circuit made,
Glanced in under the shoulder-blade ;-
Down from the saddle fell "BEAU BROCADE!"

Down from the saddle, and never stirred !— Dolly grew white as a Windsor curd.

Slipped not less from the mare, and bound Strips of her kirtle about his wound.

Then, lest his Worship should rise and flee, Fettered his ankles -tenderly.

Jumped on his chestnut, BET the fleet (Called after BET of Portugal Street);

Came like the wind to the old Inn-door ;-
Roused fat JOHN from a threefold snore ;-

Vowed she'd 'peach if he misbehaved
Briefly, the "Plymouth Fly" was saved!

Staines and Windsor were all on fire :-
DOLLY was wed to a Yorkshire squire ;
Went to Town at the K-G's desire!

But whether His M-J-STY saw her or not,
HOGARTH jotted her down on the spot;

And something of DOLLY one still may trace In the fresh contours of his "Milkmaid's” face.

GEORGE the Guard fled over the sea :
JOHN had a fit,-of perplexity;

Turned King's evidence, sad to state ;-
But JOHN was never immaculate.

As for the BEAU, he was duly tried,
When his wound was healed, at Whitsuntide;

Served-for a day-as the last of "sights."
To the world of St. James's Street and
"White's ;"

Went on his way to TYBURN TREE,
With a pomp befitting his high degree.

[From "George Geith."

S he drove up the Holloway Road, little did Mr. Geith think of all the preparations which had been made in his honour; of the torments Mrs. Bemmidge had passed through, wondering what he liked best to eat and drink. Every imaginable dish, every obtainable beverage, was had in his honour; and Mrs. Bemmidge herself, and Mrs. B.'s mother and sister, were duly ready to receive the stranger.

As for Mr. Bemmidge, he was waiting for his friend in the highway and as soon as Mr. Geith's cab came to a stand, the wine merchant opened the door, wrung his visitor's hand, wished him a merry Christmas, hurried him through the little green gate, up the gravel-walk, and into the house, where Mrs. Bemmidge met him, and saying, "this is kind," shook his hand with her own two, one being quite insufficient to express her feelings of pleasure and satisfaction.

"I really thought Mr. Grant-Geith, I meanthat we never were going to see you ;" and as she made this assertion Mrs. Bemmidge took him out of the dark hall into the lighter drawing-room, where he was introduced to Mrs. Gilling, Miss Gilling, and Mr. Foss.

After that ceremony he was permitted to sit down and commence making himself agreeable.

Whilst he did so, he looked at the ladies, and I should like you also, reader, to look at the

By Mrs. J. H. RIDDELL.]

feminine trio for a moment, before proceeding with my story.

Shall we give the pas to Miss Gilling-a creature all nature, all curls, all enthusiasm, all frankness, who had a very white skin and very black hair, very fine eyes, very small feet and hands, and a very passable figure.

Her age, you ask? I really do not know it. What with her manners, her curls, her naïveté, and her delight at small atoms of pleasure, she might have passed for sweet seventeen; but then Mrs. Bemmidge was three-and-thirty; and intimate friends said there was not much more than five or six years between them.

Anyhow, there was Miss Gilling, let her age be what it would, for Mr. Geith to fall in love with, if he liked.

As for Mrs. Gilling, she was a widow of small property and with many wants; a lady who said she had kept a set of servants-whatever number that may be; who had once had things "very different," and who was now very glad to drop in about supper time three or four nights a week and partake of such hospitality as Mrs. Bemmidge extended to her. A dignified old lady, in a prodigious cap, who snubbed Andrew Bemmidge, and paid court to her daughter; and told everybody that "Sarah" was the best wife and mother in the world. "I am sure," added Mrs. G., pathetically, "she makes a perfect slave of herself for her family."

Slavery seemed to agree with Mrs. Bemmidge, who looked plump on her work. She was a woman of about the middle height, with darkbrown eyes, brown hair, a perfectly straight mouth, and a broad, fair forehead, with rather bustling manners, and a temper-I had better stop there, for George Geith saw only the face.

As for Mr. Foss, he seemed to be regarded as a

He was a distant relation of Andrew Bemmidge, and had all the wine merchant's natural modesty, sweetness of temper, and forgetfulness of himself.

Like the wine merchant also, he could not see what was best for his domestic happiness, for he was over head and ears in love with Gertrude Gilling, and walked miles along the London pavements to fulfil her slightest behest.

"You found it cold, sir," said Mrs. Gilling, in her usual manner, only with the chill off.

"On the contrary, very warm," answered George; "but then, to be sure, I drove. I daresay the wind is cold to-day when walking. Have you been out?"

"Only to church," answered Mrs. Gilling, virtuously; and the accountant, remembering what his friend had said on that head, let the subject drop.

"What a nice little place you have here, Bemmidge," he said; "I should scarcely have supposed that near London there had been a house so much in the country."

"Nothing but fields at the back," replied Mr. Bemmidge, while the ladies mentally repeated the word "little," and marvelled at what size of house Mr. Geith had been accustomed to visit. "Nothing but fields most part of the way to Hornsey; pretty neighbourhood; beautiful walks about Highgate; the cemetery is well worth seeing. You must come down often in the summer time and explore the country."

Whereupon Mrs. Bemmidge at once expressed a hope that now Mr. Geith had found his way out to Holloway, he would make no stranger of himself, but come often and "take them as they were;" which could not be supposed to mean as they were then, seeing heaven and earth had been moved to put a good face on things in his honour.

George, in reply, stated his opinion that Mrs. Bemmidge was too kind, and Mrs. Bemmidge became duly satisfied that Mr. Geith was a delightful man.

That half-hour before dinner the accountant firmly believed never would end-not because he was hungry and wished for dinner, but because he was wearied to death of trying to find something to say.

The children had, indeed, promised a temporary diversion when they came in duly brushed, washed, and combed, to make the lives of all on

:

their sweet will and pleasure-pockets from which halfpence might be abstracted and sweatmeats procured.

To be sure, Mrs. Bemmidge exhibited the little girl aforementioned in every possible light; called the pert ugly imp her "pretty queen,' retailed all her stupid, forward speeches, and kept the child in a grin at the repetition of her own wit.

"She said she was not to call you Mr. Rant any more, but Mr. Teeth," observed her mother. "Why did you call him Mr. Rant, after all, dearie?"

In answer to which question, Miss Bemmidge drew her shoulder completely out of her dress and rubbed herself sideways against her mother. churn of a child the thing was, too, thicker round its waist than any other part of its body, and with the most astonishing pair of legs George Geith had ever beheld on a creature of its age.

"Just six last birthday," said Mrs. Bemmidge, with a triumphant smile, as though she were stating some fact greatly to the credit of her offspring.

"May I doo now, and 'peak to Harry, ma?" whispered the young lady, who could have spoken a great deal less like a two-year-old had she chosen; and mamma giving permission, she rushed over to Mr. Foss, and claimed her share of the spoil.

"Oh! you've been and given Tommy a sugarplum more than me," shrieked mamma's queen ; and forthwith Mr. Foss had to make up the deficit.

"And your'n are bigger nor mine," said Tommy, with his tongue out; all of which by-play Mr. Geith affected not to hear.

"We have one younger than any of them," remarked Mr. Bemmidge, who was accustomed to the juvenile concert. Mamma, Mr. Geith has not seen baby."

:

"I am sure Mr. Geith does not want to see any more children until after dinner," answered Mrs. Bemmidge which statement would have been perfectly true, had she only added that he did not want to see any more children at all; but politeness prevented Mr. Geith acquiescing in her proposition, and so he declared that of all things he should like best to see the baby.

Straight away went the hostess to fetch her youngest born; and during her absence George racked his brains what to say to Mrs. Gilling.