That is to say, he was just eighteen,
A trifle too short, and a shaving too lean,
But "a nice young mán" as ever was seen,
And fit to dance with a May-day queen!

Now PETER loved a beautiful girl

As ever ensnared the heart of an earl,
In the magical trap of an auburn curl,-
A little MISS THISBE, who lived next door,
(They slept, in fact, on the very same floor,
With a wall between them, and nothing more,-
Those double dwellings were common of yore,)
And they loved each other, the legends say,
In that very beautiful, bountiful way,
That every young maid,
And every young blade,

Are wont to do before they grow staid,
And learn to love by the laws of trade.
But (a-lack-a-day, for the girl and boy!) )
A little impediment checked their joy,
And gave them awhile, the deepest annoy,
For some good reason which history cloaks,
The match did n't happen to please the old folks!

So THISBE's father and PETER's mother
Began the young couple to worry and bother,
And tried their innocent passion to smother,
By keeping the lovers from seeing each other!
But who ever heard

Of a marriage, deterred,

Or even deferred,

By any contrivance so very absurd

As scolding the boy, and caging his bird?-
Now, PETER, who was not discouraged at all
By obstacles such as the timid appall,
Contrived to discover a hole in the wall,
Which wasn't so thick

But removing a brick

Made a passage-though rather provokingly small.
Through this little chink the lover could greet her,
And secrecy made their courting the sweeter,

While PETER kissed THISBE, and THISBE kissed PETER,—

For kisses, like folks with diminutive souls,

Will manage to creep through the smallest of holes!

as

T was here that the lovers, intent upon love,
Laid a nice little plot

To meet at a spot

Near a mulberry-tree in a neigboring grove;
For the plan was all laid,

By the youth and the maid,

(Whose hearts, it would seem, were uncommonly bold ones,)
To run off and get married in spite of the old ones.
In the shadows of evening, as still as a mouse,

The beautiful maiden slipped out of the house,
The mulberry-tree impatient to find,

While PETER, the vigilant matrons to blind,
Strolled leisurely out, some minutes behind.

While waiting alone by the trysting tree,
A terrible lion

(As e'er you set eye on,

Came roaring along quite horrid to see,)
And caused the young maiden in terror to flee,
(A lion's a creature whose régular trade is
Blood-and "a terrible thing among ladies,")
And losing her vail as she ran from the wood,
The monster bedabbled it over with blood.

Now PETER arriving, and seeing the vail
All covered o'er,

And reeking with gore,

Turned, all of a sudden, exceedingly pale,
And sat himself down to weep and to wail,-
For, soon as he saw the garment, poor PETER
Made up his mind, in very short meter,

That THISBE was dead, and the lion had eat her!
So breathing a prayer,

He determined to share

The fate of his darling, "the loved and the lost,”
And fell on his dagger, and gave up the ghost!

NOW THISBE returning, and viewing her beau,

Lying dead by the vail, (which she happened to know,)
She guessed, in a moment, the cause of his erring,
And seizing the knife

Which had taken his life,

In less than a jiffy was dead as a herring!

t

MORAL.

Young gentlemen!-pray recollect, if you please,
Not to make assignations near mulberry-trees.
Should your mistress be missing, it shows a weak head
To be stabbing yourself, till you know she is dead.
Young ladies!you should n't go strolling about
When your anxious mammas don't know you are out;
And remember that accidents often befall

From kissing young fellows through holes in the wall!

Ex. CXLVIII.—THE EXECUTION.*

My Lord Tomnoddy got up one day,
It was half after two,-
He had nothing to do;

So his lordship rang for his cabriolet.

Tiger Tim

Was clean of limb,

His boots were polished, his jacket was trim;
With a very smart tie in his smart cravat,
And a smart cockade on the top of his hat;
Tallest of boys, or shortest of men,

BARHAM.

He stood in stockings just four feet ten;
And he asked, as he held the door on the swing,
"Pray, did your lordship please to ring ?"

My Lord Tomnoddy raised his head,
And thus to Tiger Tim he said:

"Malibran's dead,

Duvernay's fled,

Taglioni has not arrived in her stead ;—
Tiger Tim, come tell me true,

What may a nobleman find to do ?"

Tim looked up, and Tim looked down;

He paused, and put on a thoughtful frown;

And he held up his hat, and he peeped in the crown, He bit his lip, and he scratched his head,

He let go the handle, and thus he said,

* A chapter from the book of London life.

As the door, released, behind him banged,

"An 't please you, my lord, there's a man to be hanged!"

My Lord Tomnoddy jumped up at the news,— "Run to M'Fuze,

And Lieutenant Tregooze,

And run to Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues.
Rope dancers a score

I have seen before,

Madame Sacchi, Antonio, and Master Blackmore;
But to see a man swing

At the end of a string,

With his neck in a noose, will be quite a new thing !"
My Lord Tomnoddy stepped into his cab-
Dark rifle-green, with a lining of drab;

Through street and through square,
His high-trotting mare,

Like one of Ducrow's, goes pawing the air.
Adown Piccadilly and Waterloo Place

Went the high-trotting mare at a deuce of a pace;
She produced some alarm,

But did no great harm,

Save frightening a nurse with a child on her arm,
Spattering with clay

Two urchins at play,

Knocking down,-very much to the sweeper's dismay,-
An old woman, who would 'nt get out of the way,
And upsetting a stall
Near Exeter Hall,

Which made all the passing church-mission folks squall.
But eastward afar
Through Temple Bar,

My Lord Tomnoddy directs his car;
Never heeding their squalls,

Or their calls, or their bawls,

He passes by Waithman's emporium for shawls,
And merely just catching a glimpse of St. Paul's,
Turns down the old Bailey,

66

Where in front of the jail, he

Pulls up at the door of the gin-shop, and gayly
Cries, What must I fork out to-night, my trump,
For the whole first floor of the Magpie and Stump ?"

The clock strikes twelve,-it is dark midnight,-
Yet the Magpie and Stump is one blaze of light.
The parties are met;

The tables are set;

There is "punch," "cold without," "hot within," "heavy wet,"

Ale-glasses and jugs,

And rummers and mugs,

And sand on the floor, without carpets or rugs,
Cold fowl and cigars,

Pickled onions in jars,

Welsh rabbits, and kidneys,―rare work for the jaws!—
And very large lobsters, with very large claws;
And there is M'Fuze,

And Lieutenant Tregooze,

And there is Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues,-
All come to see a man "die in his shoes!"

The clock strikes One!
Supper is done,

And Sir Carnaby Jenks is full of his fun,
Singing "Jolly companions, every one!"
My Lord Tomnoddy

Is drinking gin-toddy,

And laughing at every thing, and every body.
The clock strikes Two!-and the clock strikes Three !—
"Who so merry, so merry as we ?"

Save Captain M'Fuze,

Who is taking a snooze,

While Sir Carnaby Jenks is busy at work,
Blacking his nose with a piece of burnt cork.

The clock strikes Four!

Round the debtor's door

Are gathered a couple of thousands or more;

As

many await

At the press-yard gate,

Till slowly its folding-doors open; and straight
The mob divides; and between their ranks

A wagon comes loaded with posts and with planks.

The clock strikes Five!

The sheriffs arrive,

And the crowd is so great that the street seems alive;